


The Snowman

by dehautdesert



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abduction, Aftermath of Torture, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Author Knows Nothing, Disturbing Themes, Enemies to Not Enemies, Flashbacks, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Intergenerational friendship, M/M, Mild Heavy Rain Crossover, Not Deviant Connor, Not Machine Connor Either, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Things I Don't Know How To Tag For, Torture, Trauma, no beta we die like men, strangeness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 15:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 116,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15342495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dehautdesert/pseuds/dehautdesert
Summary: December 2039. Having endured eight days of brutal captivity alongside Detective Reed, Connor stumbles through a catastrophic blizzard in the middle of nowhere.Later, he'll wonder if the snow froze him up for good... or if he was always like that.





	1. Odyssey

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so first things first: this is a weird one, and possibly a very disturbing one, and not just for the reasons you might infer from reading the tags. This fic is set in the same universe as my other D:BH fic, 'In the Woods Somewhere'. It's not necessary to read that one, they don't have all that much to do with one another except perhaps theme-wise, and to elaborate on backstory that I will give here:
> 
> The Connor in this fic did not join Markus at Jericho, and still works for Cyberlife, now under Elijah Kamski, as liaison to the DPD. However, Markus' pacifist Android Rights Movement was a success, and androids are seen as sentient beings under the law. Anything else will mostly be expanded upon in the story, but going back to my earlier point - this Connor has feelings, and certainly has them in regards to what he'll suffer in the story... but they might not be the feelings you'd expect.
> 
> Oh yeah, and I'm not good at the tech-tech stuff, in case you couldn't tell. Sorry about that.
> 
> Enjoy! (or not, as the case may be!)

 

 

The blizzard howled.

 

Far out in the wastes of and unknown landscape the snow fell thick and fast and everywhere at once. The blank white sea stretched out in all directions, as far as Connor could see with his working eye, his movement sluggish with the snow up to his thighs, the cold, the wind, the burden and the various damages to his bio-components. For the fourth time since this overwhelming march began, the notification appeared –

 

CRITICAL POWER FAILURE IMMINENT

 

SELECT NON-ESSENTIAL SYSTEMS FOR DEACTIVATION Y/N

 

TIME TO EXPECTED SHUT DOWN 00:01:59

 

58

 

57…

 

Connor reviewed the list of systems he could deactivate to save power while still retaining the barest requirements to keep moving. There weren’t many left.

 

He lingered on the wireless connectivity system for a few, precious seconds. The constant attempts to connect to nothing were a moderate drain on his power, but on the off chance that they did stumble into a hotspot out here, where he wasn’t even sure what country they were in, having that system online might have been their only hope. He needed that, and he needed to keep moving.

 

The internal chronometer was another possibility that he hesitated with. That component didn’t use much power at all truth be told, ran on its own micro-battery that Connor could opt to access in the unlikely event that such access was necessary – nominally to reset it for daylight savings or if he happened to cross into another time zone. It charged automatically off his other systems but he could also steal that charge, and the few minutes of extra, stilted struggling it might give. It wasn’t like knowing the time or how long this desperate odyssey had lasted would help them – they would either be rescued in time or they wouldn’t.

 

 

But…

 

42

 

41

 

40…

 

Well. There was one glaring entry on that list of non-essential systems. It had been an oversight on his part not to have attended to it before now.

 

He waited another six-point-eight seconds for a gap in the wind.

 

“Detective Reed?”

 

The body draped over his shoulder twitched.

 

“ ‘m not dead yet,” the human slurred.

 

_Good,_ thought Connor. “Detective, please don’t be alarmed but I’m going to deactivate my skin to save power!”

 

He didn’t wait for a response before executing the command to do so. This proved prudent, as Reed didn’t offer any comment.

 

SKIN HAS BEEN DEACTIVATED

 

TIME TO EXPECTED SHUT DOWN 00:54:59

 

57

 

58

 

There. Almost a whole hour. At their current average velocity Connor calculated he might cover another one-point-nine kilometres in that time. It was certainly not a lot, but it was better than the thirty or so metres he would have gotten before external skin deactivation had been applied.

 

And running into… _something_ , a town, or a road, or a shelter of some sort was their only hope aside from running into a wireless hotspot. Connor’s other means of communication had been smashed against the side of a truck days ago along with the side of his head.

 

The snow fell thicker suddenly, and with the sky clouded over and his GPS link removed, Connor could no longer tell what direction they were travelling in; could only continue to trust that the inclement weather had dissuaded any attempted pursuit by their adversaries.

 

“How are you holding up, Detective?” he called out.

 

“Stop asking… plastic fuck… ’m tired.”

 

Still alive – awake even. That was good. In truth when Conor though ‘their’ only hope, he meant Reed’s, for though he could not back himself up to Cyberlife’s servers in this state there was every chance his memory might remain intact within this damaged body even after lack of power forced a shut down. Perhaps they would find him at the thaw of spring, or even many years from now, a curiosity of days gone by.

 

There was an eighty percent probability that Detective Reed would be dead within three hours.

 

Connor took another step into the solid deluge. He had calculated the best way to cover maximum distance in the time allotted, and that meant a reduced speed to what he was truly capable of, but there was a delicate balancing act at work between proceeding slowly to extend his power supply so he could travel further over all and covering as much distance as possible in the limited time Reed had. He’d cover more distance at this rate than if he’d gone as quickly as possible, and in doing so run down his power all the sooner.

 

Then an unseen step of some sort beneath the snow had Connor suddenly pitch forward and struggle to retain his balance. He didn’t fall, the snow was actually supporting him in this instance, but on his back, Detective Reed let out a hiss and a moan of pain as his own injuries were jarred and he choked out –

 

“Watch it, asshole!”

 

“Sorry, Detective,” Connor replied, not thinking, not adhering to Reed’s command from earlier.

 

_You fucking shut up. You never talk about that again, to anyone, you understand? No fucking apologies, no nothing – I don’t want to hear your fucking voice if I don’t have to._

 

There was no way to tell whether or not this apology had made Reed as incensed as the previous attempts at showing contrition, of which there had been forty-one since the investigation had begun, thirty-eight since they’d been taken, thirty-four since the deviants had begun their… interrogation… twenty-nine since…

 

At any rate, the detective said nothing now. Connor accepted that this was more likely due to exhaustion on the human’s part than his deciding to accept one of Connor’s apologies. Even without falling over himself he knew he jarred Reed’s broken leg with every step, and his pressure sensors were such that he could feel the broken ribs against his back through all their layers of clothing and skin. Every so often a shudder passed the detective’s lips, just audible enough.

 

He’d tried to convince Reed to accept his clothing once they’d made in far enough away from the cabin. It made little difference to Connor after all, and Reed hadn’t been dressed for this weather before they’d been taken.

 

Reed had been very upset. It had taken far too long for Connor to realise why, given that he had been programmed to understand human emotion. But eventually he’d managed to convince him to take the jacket, and the tie, which the human wore like a scarf around his neck.

 

Connor had already detected frostbite in seven of Reed’s fingers. For now, he judged the effects were reversible, but it consumed his thoughts all the same; that Reed suffered, and might continue to even if he did survive, while Connor…

 

He didn’t know if he’d call it ‘suffering’. Processing what had happened had taken up an alarming amount of his system capacity before he’d forced himself to focus totally on putting one foot in front of the other. Yet his thoughts still… and he was damaged too; the head wound one of many that had cracked his outer shell – eleven separate places in all, damage concentrated on the right side, third and fourth finger on that hand would have to be replaced, right optical unit would have to be replaced, bio-components exposed along his right side and left shoulder – which Detective Reed now lay across.

 

Thirium had stopped leaking from the right side, at least. Its freezing temperature was several degrees below that of water, but some crystals had formed along that side. It had proved an accurate enough measure of temperature in itself that turning off his digital thermometer hadn’t been too hard of a decision. His major thirium-circulating system had not frozen, being artificially heated, but he had had to consider whether switching off that heating would save power enough for him to get further than he would have otherwise, or whether his thirium would freeze even before he made it the short distance he expected to cover now.

 

At any rate, he wasn’t in _pain_. Androids didn’t feel pain. And Connor had found he, more so than other androids, was not as distressed by bodily damage, for which in these circumstances he was grateful. But at the same time, it wasn’t like…

 

Well, it wasn’t like there was any gain in dwelling on it here and now. They’d picked a direction to go in and there was nothing to do but keep going. Any chance was better than none.

 

“… should just leave me here…”

 

Connor ignored the drunken-sounding mumble. It wasn’t the first time Reed had said it in the past few hours. Connor had come up with four possible reasons for such a sentiment; first that through their shared trial Reed had come to see him as a sentient being and a colleague worthy of respect, and in the spirit of his identity as a police officer he wished for Connor to take the increased chance of survival that leaving him behind to die would offer – not appreciating how negligible the increase actually was.

 

Secondly, it may have been that Reed wished for Connor’s survival purely so that he might have the chance to exact vengeance on their captors and would-be murderers for the abuse they had both suffered, a chance he thought might otherwise be lost if Connor wasted the energy he had left trying to save them both. And it was true, Connor had everything he needed to expose the orchestrators of this ordeal; the unique signature of data that was present in the fluids of every android – android ‘DNA’, as humans understood it – even now present in more than sufficient quantity upon his body to identify all members of the party of their assailants save two – and both of those he had recorded fingerprints for upon his skin.

 

One long, black hair, belonging to the ringleader, stored within a special compartment in his abdomen.

 

Thirdly, the ordeal could very well have caused such psychological devastation to even someone like Reed, that he wished to be left behind so that he wouldn’t have to face the emotional fall out that would come from surviving. This sentiment, in particular, Connor had come across before in another, so it was not incomprehensible.

 

The final option was that Reed was spouting nonsense, delirious with pain and hypothermia, and that was what Connor had decided made the most sense. That was why he ignored the statement once again. Instead –

 

“My chronometer has determined that it has been exactly eight days, five hours and forty-eight minutes since we were abducted,” he told Reed. “Providing we were not taken into an adjoining time zone, I have determined that it is now Christmas day.”

 

Reed laughed.

 

“Yeah? Well, Merry Christmas, you plastic prick. Since you’ve been such a good little bot maybe Santa will ride down in his sleigh and fly us both to Tahiti.”

 

For some reason Connor actually looked up into the cloudy sky and swirling snow beneath it. He immediately felt stupid for doing so and hoped Reed hadn’t noticed. Reed snorted then, so maybe he had, but even if that was so he didn’t follow it up with another taunt. Connor didn’t know whether to take that as a sign of growing respect between them or to worry more for the human’s deteriorating condition.

 

“Ah, Jesus Christ…” The words were sobbed out with a gasp of pain. “Don’t make me laugh, you bastard.”

 

That had not been Connor’s intent, which was often the case when he made people laugh. It would make it difficult to comply without simply remaining silent, and he had determined that despite the frequent commands to ‘shut the fuck up’ or likewise, it was more conducive to Reed’s well-being to engage with him at least every so often, out here in the bitter winds and endless snow.

 

The storm raged on.

 

CRITICAL POWER FAILURE 00:49:33

 

32

 

31…

 

His internal chronometer told him that time had been re-calculated since he’d deactivated his skin and they’d lost eighteen seconds, perhaps because Connor had wasted energy speaking. And yet he didn’t know if it was a waste when his understanding of humans told him that his encouragement, even with him being someone Reed despised more than ever before, had to be better than silence.

 

30

 

28

 

29…

 

Reed was still alive for now. Connor kept going. As instructed, his connectivity device tried its on-the minute search for a signal he could latch onto – to send for help.

 

NO SIGNAL FOUND

 

RETRY Y/N?

 

They were all alone, and the countdown skipped over another thirty-four seconds. Connor reset the cycle to two minutes between every attempt to restore connectivity. He didn’t know if this was the right thing to do by any means, of course. He lacked accumulative data to analyse how every decision affected their – Reed’s – chances of survival. He didn’t know if that was something that even could be calculated.

 

“Fuck,” Reed muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

 

_Indeed,_ thought Connor. He took another step and then another. The counter continued to run down. He felt the human’s heartbeat, continuing on beneath the broken ribs beneath the skin beneath the clothes. _“ ‘m going to die wearing a fucking android uniform,”_ he’d said when he’d pulled it on. “ _Fucking disgrace.”_

 

_“I think it suits you, Detective,”_ Connor had lied in turn, hoping it might lighten the desolate mood.

 

_“Fuck off!”_

 

The heavier black coat had been pulled over it quickly enough. Connor remembered idly when Reed had come as Elijah Kamski for the office Halloween party (the resemblance had been uncanny); pinstripe suit and purple tie; giving a number of ridiculous impressions that even Hank had laughed at.

 

_“Most evil thing that ever lived, far as I’m concerned,”_ Reed had told Connor on the day, with an icy grin. Connor had surmised that the detective had been disappointed when he hadn’t disagreed.

 

There was no benefit to remembering that day now. No benefit to not remembering it either. Connor took another step through the snow, and then another, pausing to face down a particularly ferocious gust of wind. Connor thought of many things as he trudged forward through the snow, the slowly fading detective on his back.

 

He wondered if it was odd how strongly he wanted Reed to survive. Reed who’d always hated him. Reed who had mocked him at every turn. Who Connor was sure he had narrowly avoided annoying to the point of physical altercation, even after the Androids Rights Act had passed. Maybe it was in Connor’s programming. Maybe it was because Reed had every good reason to hate him now.

 

_“You’ll do as I say, deviant hunter, or Xander will blow your precious human master’s brains out.”_

 

_Hank…_ Connor thought, as he took another gruelling step through the storm. _Did I do the right thing? Was there even a right thing to do?_

_“Morality is a_ human _construct, RK800.”_

 

“Jesus,” said Reed, drawing Connor’s attention away from those memories. “Any sign of one of those hotspots?”

 

“Not yet, Detective,” Connor admitted.

 

“Fuck. How much longer you got on the clock?”

 

Connor opened his mouth to answer and a flurry of snowflakes were blown in. He almost fell back with the force of that blow, but this time he managed to keep his balance, throwing everything into not falling and causing Reed more damage than he already had. A crust of ice that had formed on his shirt slid off onto the snow he was stood in, now high enough that if he stumbled just a little the edges of Reed’s boots would skim its surface.

 

As soon as that wind was over, he recalculated. Had his skin still been active, he was sure that that on the face would have grimaced at the result.

 

“Forty minutes, Detective,” he replied. Reed said nothing.

 

He’d lost more time. It had only been three minutes nineteen seconds since he’d last checked, but somehow they’d lost more than five. Audio and visual processing were essential. Movement was essential. Synaptic function was essential. Thermoregulatory system (reduced capacity as Connor had configured his already) was essential. Apart from the negligible chronometer, there was nothing more he could lose and still function except…

 

The ensuing calculations were _hesitant_. It would be difficult, but it was all he could think of.

 

“Detective, I’m going to lock my arms in place and then cease thirium flow to them; I will be able to continue to carry you and it might increase my run-time by another half an hour.”

 

“You what? Shit man, don’t you need those things in working order?”

 

“If the damage sustained turns out to be irreversible, I can always acquire replacement arms from Cyberlife.”

 

Reed’s situation, needless to say, was a little more precarious. He answered,

 

“Fuck. In that case yeah, go for it. Fuck me if another half hour of _this_ doesn’t sound like more trouble than it’s worth though.”

 

_He doesn’t mean that_ , Connor told himself. _If he survives, he’ll recover, and one day he might look back on all of this as a distant nightmare. He doesn’t mean it._

 

…

 

…

 

It was strange that it had come to the point where Connor was as determined as he was to believe that. That the idea it could be otherwise was so upsetting, like the instability that used to send his thoughts in so many haywire paths when he saw the notification MISSION FAILED. And he supposed in these circumstances seeing Reed to safety was his mission.

 

_I always accomplish my mission._

 

Deactivating thirium flow to his arms bought him twenty-one minutes, thirteen seconds.

 

TIME TO CRITICAL POWER FAILURE 01:02:51

 

50

 

49

 

48…

 

And the snow piled on. Androids _didn’t_ feel pain, or at least, they didn’t feel the kind of pain humans felt, so the sensation of his arms slowly freezing over, already locked in place as they were, was merely… odd. He’d long since deactivated the unnecessary pressure sensors, but the sensors that were still necessary, to keep him from standing in place and losing precious time because he didn’t realise there was a rock or fallen tree blocking his path beneath the snow, those sensors felt the tiniest tremors that vibrated through his body as the traces of thirium left within those components hardened into tiny crystals.

 

He noticed it affected his balance slightly. But he was able to compensate enough not to fall over, and it was slow going anyway, with all the snow.

 

The endless, endless snow.

 

He checked once again for a connection to the network, to any network. Nothing. The minutes drifted away.

 

Connor persevered.

 

…

 

…

 

The timer ran down to 00:12:34 before he saw anything of note.

 

A line of trees in the distance; firs, eight of them, in two parallel lines that might, if they were lucky, just might have marked a road. The snow was falling still but mercifully not quite as thickly as before, and Connor found the decision to head towards the trees an easy one, as there had been nothing else that might have given them at the very least a landmark for hours that had felt like months.

 

It was strange, thought Connor, that with an internal chronometer making sure he knew exactly how many hours, minutes, seconds, milliseconds were passing every moment to every day, he should have been able to feel like some periods of time lasted far longer than others of the exact same duration. Very peculiar.

 

“I see some trees, Detective,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse because its power too was failing.

 

“Wha… “

 

Reed was still alive, thank God. Connor had still felt his slowing pulse, true, but hearing his voice made it seem so much more hopeful. “I’m going to head towards them, they might be bordering a road.”

 

“Nn.” The detective groaned.

 

_Just a little longer_ , Connor told himself. _The trees might be a road, and the road might be salvation, and then this whole ordeal will be over._

 

It would be over soon either way, he knew. But if he could just keep going despite the urgency with which the countdown flashed – 00:11:56… 55… 54… – then maybe, just maybe…

 

And then he tripped again.

 

Reed screamed, let out a sob that turned to, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” – there had been something not entirely flush with the ground below, like a branch he’d accidentally hooked his foot under, and without his arms to balance he went not only forwards but listed to the side, dropping Reed’s head into the snow.

 

CRITICAL POWER FAILURE IMMINENT

 

_Override!_ Connor thought, twisting his body desperately to try and get Reed out of the snow, though his arms were still locked around him. _I still had more than ten minutes left!_

 

CRITICAL POWER FAILURE IMMINENT

 

Desperately he sought out the chronometer and stole the little charge it carried, then shut off his thermoregulatory system, but it made no difference; his CPU was shutting down, the failsafe overriding his overrides like a human body might have seized up and stopped after too extended an exhaustion even as they raged against it.

 

The last thing he was able to do was disable the lock on his arms, letting Reed loose before his body stopped responding to his commands. He heard the detective moaning over and over in pain, as he rolled away. For now he was still aware. Connor could only hope…

 

“I’m sorry, Detective,” he said, his voice freezing up and lowering. “I can’t… I… _Hank_ …”

 

And then he was silent, even as his thoughts screamed.

 

He still heard Reed’s mantra, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” and then, “Oh, fuck – you god damn plastic sack of shit, don’t crap out on me now! I swear to god I’ll disassemble you for parts myself – fucking useless android!”

 

_Please don’t die, Detective_ , Connor thought. _Please don’t die._

 

The snow was swirling as it had on so many nights the year before that had defined the course of the future for androids. Last Christmas he’d gone to Markus’ house for the first time, met him at peace and talked about some of what had happened between them during the November movement. Markus had asked him to paint something. Hank had been angry at him for taking the risk of going to the deviant leader’s house after they’d tried to kill each other, but Hank had got him a puppy for Christmas anyway. She was a greyhound, rescued from an illegal racing operation, and Connor named her Atalanta. She and Sumo had become good friends.

 

Hank would probably be angry with him now.

 

“All right,” Reed gasped, and dragged himself to face the line of trees. “Fuck it, all right. Fuck you then, I’ll leave you behind if I have to!”

 

He yelled it out for all the wilderness to hear, and yet Connor was moving somehow, the sky and snow flipping around before him, and he could see…

 

… he could see Reed’s shoulder, and the side of his head. The stubble on his jaw.

 

Reed was crawling, one leg immobile, barely able to see where he was going sunk into the snow as he was, but he had thrown Connor over his back despite everything and was dragging them both towards the tree line.

 

_Why? After everything... why?_

 

“Christ,” Reed said. “You’re fucking ugly without your skin on, Connor – you know that, right?”

 

TIME TO INTERNAL SHUTDOWN: 00:00:59

 

58

 

57

 

The trees were too far for Connor to reach within the single minute he had. It was simply impossible. Maybe if Gavin was lucky Connor hadn’t doomed him to any early grave. Unlikely events did happen, statistically speaking. But the chances were very low, and thinking about it, being unable not to think about it, it felt like something less physical than thirium was crystallising inside him.

 

Just before his visual processor cut out, and his remaining functional eye went blind, he saw a figure standing in the snow.

 

Androids didn’t have hallucinations, he told himself.

 

No figure could have suddenly appeared without him seeing it coming, he told himself.

 

She could not be there, he told himself.

 

But there she was.

 

A wasteland of this proportion had gone long past reminding him of the Zen Garden in winter. But there she was.

 

_“Amanda…”_ he whispered wirelessly.

 

Severe as ever, lit by a light that wasn’t there and dressed in elegant and imposing white robes, Amanda shook her head at him with disapproval.

 

“Connor,” she said. “What _have_ you gotten yourself into?”

 

_“We were captured,”_ Connor told her in his head, not knowing if the message was any more received than if he’d thrown a scrap of paper in a bottle into this sea of snow. “ _The deviants… I failed my mission…”_

 

TIME TO INTERNAL SHUT DOWN 00:00:19

 

18

 

17…

 

_“Please. Detective Reed won’t last much longer.”_

 

He heard the human wheezing and gasping beneath him as he somehow struggled forward. Amanda tilted her head, still staring right through him with her burning dark eyes. Was she really there? Was it possible?

 

12

 

11

 

10…

 

“Connor? Hey! Hey fuckface! Jesus fuck, you prick, don’t leave me out here!”

 

6

 

5

 

4…

 

There was nothing more Connor could do, though even through the wind and the countdown and the feeling of some thing closing in around him, Gavin’s cry pierced through to him, that strange part of him that usually only Hank could reach. He hoped he had done all he could. He hoped Amanda really had connected and been able to locate him somehow. He hoped Detective Reed wouldn’t die a terrible death alone out here, and he hoped Hank would forgive him.

 

3

 

2

 

1…

 

SHUTTING DOWN

 

The timer ran out. Connor’s thoughts went black. Gavin heard a slight whirring nose within him suddenly stop and power down, and he cursed and tried to beat his fist against the snow.

 

The snow kept falling.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 


	2. Scheria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all who have left kudos or comments. Here is more of... this. This time with 100% more Hank!
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

 

SYSTEM RESTARTING

 

CHARGING…

 

CHARGE AT 1%

 

CHARGING…

 

LOADING SUBROUTINES…

 

CHARGING…

 

SENSORY INPUT AVAILABLE

 

CHARGING…

 

WAKE UP Y/N?

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

They had been crawling – through the snow.

 

Detective Reed had been fading, fast and furiously.

 

Amanda had been there…

 

_Amanda_?

 

Could she really have appeared out in the middle of…

 

“Connor? Connor, can you hear me?”

 

He knew that voice. Instinctively he set into motion the processes by which he could analyse his surroundings, establish the situation – where was Amanda, where was Reed, where was Connor and how long had he been out? Was he safe? Were they all safe? He needed to know; the situation had been so dire that he needed to confirm before anything else…

 

Were _they_ gone?

 

Systems were commanded to reactivate one by one; pressure sensors, analytics, motor functions, thermoregulatory system, networking capabilities –

 

WARNING

 

EXCESSIVE POWER CONSUMPTION

 

… damn it.

 

“He’s panicking, there’s a power surge in his system.”

 

“Come on, Connor – don’t do this to me – “

 

CRITICAL SYSTEM ERROR.

 

SHUTTING DOWN

 

“Connor?”

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

CHARGING…

 

CHARGE AT 4%

 

WAKE UP Y/N?

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

Connor’s pressure sensors registered the touch of a human hand on the top of his head. He felt the racing pulse and the blood flowing around the veins beneath the flesh pressed against him. It was the side of his head that hadn’t been damaged, which was still registering nothing.

 

“Come on, Connor. Come on, you’re safe now, kid. Everything’s going to be all right.”

 

Hank.

 

His voice was fraught, heavy and faint with tears, and of all the voices Connor knew Hank to express himself with, this was perhaps his least favourite. It held a kind of hurt in it that had Connor’s program scramble for a solution that couldn’t be found, and it hurt him in turn (though he still was unsure in all honesty, about applying that term to himself) that he knew he had been the cause of it.

 

Then, from one instant to the next he remembered everything.

 

REACTIVATING VOICE

 

“Hank? Detective Reed is…”

 

“Oh, thank God! Jesus Christ, Connor, you scared the shit out of me!”

 

Connor’s functional eye went back online a moment later, and he found himself in a bright, white room seven by five-point-five metres, lying horizontal on a gurney one-point-two metres off the ground. He blinked to try and recalibrate his vision, though it did no good to the damaged optical unit. Hank was sitting next to him, beard almost an inch longer than he usually kept it, eyes wide and stained red. Despite this, a helpless smile was coming on to his face.

 

“Fuck. Why do you do this to me, kid?”

 

“I’ve contacted Cyberlife to inform them of the parts that will need replacing; they’ll have them ready once you’ve arranged transport back to Detroit.”

 

An android spoke these words, an AP700 female with the Asian ‘skin’. She had been sitting at a desk on Connor’s other side, monitoring a set of power read-outs on a screen that Connor deduced were his own. He saw her face reflected in the screen and had to turn away. It was the same face as –

 

“What? Why can’t they bring them up here?! This is their own guy we’re talking about, is that prick really going to make him go all the way back to Detroit in this condition? In that fucking storm!?”

 

“Lieutenant, the RK800’s condition won’t be made any worse by travel the way a human’s might. RK800, I would suggest you power down to conserve energy now, you’re consuming more than this grid will be able to give you before the power to the whole district – “

 

Connor knew what she was suggesting, but first he had to know.

 

“Hank? Is Detective Reed… ?“

 

“Christ, will you just let him have a minute?! It’s going to be okay Connor, they said they could fix you up again without you having to upload yourself into a new body. You’re going to be okay.”

 

“Hank. Detective Reed…”

 

“What?” Hank frowned as though he didn’t even know who that was for a second, but then his eyes widened, and he exhaled. “Oh, Reed – don’t worry about him, Connor, they airlifted him to the nearest hospital and I’m sure he’s going to be fine – Jeffrey went down there about an hour ago and he’ll give us a call back when they know more.”

 

Relief flooded Connor’s systems, overwhelming the various error messages and damage reports his diagnostic analyses were turning up. Reed was alive. Reed was _alive,_ safe, and receiving medical treatment, his chances of surviving their ordeal now…

 

… now depended on how long it had been between the point Connor had gone offline and the point they had been located by their rescuers. He immediately sent instruction for his internal chronometer to be switched back on and via the network he was now once more connected to aligned it to the correct date and time – 25th of December, 2039, 06:43:34… 35… 36… and tried to recall what time it had been when he’d gone offline, although he wouldn’t know from that when they had been picked up unless he accessed the relevant database –

 

“I’m reading a spike in his energy consumption. RK800, please do not attempt to utilise too many functions while your power level remains below 5%”

 

“Hey, lay off him, would you? As for you, Connor, don’t you dare try to pull any of your usual fuckery. You stay down and get some rest while your self-repair shit sorts stuff out.”

 

“Lieutenant… “

 

Hank took a deep breath. “Fuck. This has been a real shit show of a week. Connor, for the sake of my aging heart I’m begging you; please just get better, okay? You don’t have to worry about Reed, or anything else that’s happened because I’m going to take care of it, all right?”

 

“Lieutenant, the deviants…”

 

“Fuck, you definitely don’t have to worry about them, kid. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

 

There was another side of Hank there, one rarely seen, whose eyes sharpened intensely in a moment, like a predator about to strike.

 

But Connor didn’t want Hank to strike at these deviants, because he knew they would strike back. He also knew there were more of them than the police knew, or had known when he’d last been in the loop. Most of all he had come to know their leader, and knew than even Hank, or perhaps Hank in particular even, would find it difficult in more than one way to contend with them. If they didn’t formulate a cohesive and airtight plan of attack, and execute it in full possession of their senses, the likelihood of further casualties was extreme.

 

It was an instinct for Connor to try and calculate that likelihood to an exact percentage. But even giving the command to run those numbers put a sudden drain on his energy and brought him face to face with a loading screen that wasn’t moving. He quickly cancelled the routine and tried to think of what best to say to calm the look of icy rage in Hank’s eyes without his usual capacity for analysis available.

 

“Don’t, Lieutenant. I am now familiar with many of the members of their organisation, and you can trust me when I say that acting in anger is likely to compromise the success of the mission – “

 

“Fuck your stupid fucking mission!” snapped Hank.

 

_Fool,_ Connor thought, of himself. _You were meant to think of what might convince Hank. Not yourself._

 

“ – this one may not be equipped to give you more than a basic look-over, but the paramedics who took Gavin said they saw signs of fucking… _torture_.” He hissed a breath in trough tightly grit teeth, eyes only getting ever sharper. “I don’t give a fuck what these assholes are, I’m going to find them and break their fucking heads open!”

 

“I’m okay, Lieutenant,” Connor said quickly. He didn’t think the bulk of Hank’s rage was felt for Reed’s sake. “I’m okay.”

 

He would be okay, at any rate. All of the damage was reparable. The damage to Detective Reed too, though it would take longer, and longer still depending on how long ago they had been rescued. And yet there was an errant process in Connor’s thoughts when he considered Reed and the damage that had been done to him – the torture, as Hank put it, but it was more… constructive to think of it as damage, Connor decided, because damages were by necessity repaired. More specifically when he heard it in Hank’s voice, and he remembered, after it had happened…

_“Detective? Detective please… I…”_

_…_

_“I’m sorry you had to see that, and I realise…”_

_…_

_“I realise I’m asking you to go against your duty as an officer, but please…”_

_…_

_“Please don’t tell Lieutenant Anderson.”_

_…_

_“Detective?”_

 

Reed was damaged. Reed had been tortured. Reed might very well develop unstable behaviours because of that and Connor would not have blamed him for it.

 

_“Will you shut the fuck up? Fuck, you don’t have to worry about me talking to Hank or anyone else – I’m never going to fucking_ think _about that ever again!”_

 

Yet the sudden thought that Reed might go back on his word and let it slip to Hank about everything that had happened in that outpost… it made him hope for things he shouldn’t have hoped for. Because he knew Hank couldn’t stand to see him hurt, and he knew enough to know what the details of such hurt might enrage in him when he could already see the will to murder in his eyes.

 

“I’m okay, Lieutenant,” he said again.

 

Then –

 

“Do you know if… Atalanta…”

 

There. _There_ was the correct path, because all at once the killing look vanished from Hank’s face, and he snorted and shook his head.

 

“Jesus Christ, Connor.” He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing some back from his forehead. “Yeah, Lannie’s doing fine. Her and Sumo are having a blast, though she cries something awful at five in the morning like clockwork, so don’t go getting yourself kidnapped again any time soon, or you’ll leave a fucking trail of broken hearts.”

 

“Atalanta has been staying with you and Sumo?”

 

“Well, I wasn’t going to ask your fucking prick boss to sit for you, you’d have come back to a dog that shot lasers out its eyes or some mad science shit. Fucking Kamski.”

 

Connor very much doubted that, but he was nevertheless relieved to hear Hank confirm he had taken Atalanta in because he had certain doubts about Kamski’s ability to see to the emotional needs of his dog while he was… away. He looked forward to seeing her again, he thought. Her and Sumo.

 

“I’ll bring her to the Tower of Compensating for Something once you’re all fixed up.” Hank said this warmly, but the next moment suddenly appeared awkward. “… should probably make sure you’re your regular self again before she sees you.”

 

It was a full three-point-four seconds before Connor realised what he meant.

 

“My skin…”

 

He tilted his head. He was still wearing the white shirt Reed had refused to accept back when they had escaped the outpost, but at the end of that white sleeve his hand was whiter than the snow they’d been pulled out of, a little yellowish shine from the lighting in the room on each knuckle. Trying to reactivate the skin now wold put an unjustifiable drain on his already precarious energy reserves, and yet it was by a small margin that he stopped himself from sending the command to do so.

 

Humans didn’t like looking at the plastic casing of an android. And though some androids these days chose to deactivate their skin on a permanent basis as a kind of statement, and some perhaps because they truly preferred the aesthetic of that glossy cover, Connor was not among them either. It was, for all quarters, better that he wear his best face if he could.

 

“My apologies, Lieutenant. I know my appearance is less appealing like this.”

 

“Oh, fuck off, Connor – you look fine. Aside from the gaping wounds, that is – Jesus Christ. I didn’t mean it like that anyway, and you know it.”

 

Hank was not saying, Connor decided, that he had _not_ meant Connor’s appearance disturbed or repelled him. He knew it did – particularly if the skin around his face was gone. But that was normal enough, and what Hank _had_ clearly meant was that he didn’t mean Connor should feel bad that his skinless self was displeasing to human eyes.

 

And Connor didn’t feel bad, except that in the situation should’ve been so easily rectified, yet he was unable to. It was important to him, after all, that Hank should always be comfortable and at ease around him.

 

Then Hank frowned. “You’ve got a little bit of your hair hologram showing over that big crack in your skull. You’re not trying to reactivate that shit, are you?”

 

_Oh,_ thought Connor. _They missed a little bit_.

 

“No, Lieutenant,” he said. “Mine is one of the models that comes equipped with real hair – it received heavy damage, but it seems a few strands are still attached.”

 

“Real hair?” Hank repeated, incredulous. His face twisted. “What… you mean like, human hair?”

 

“Yes,” Connor lied. “Largely collected from the floors of prison barber shops. If I were to analyse the follicles for DNA, I’m sure I could tell you both who the donor of my own hair was and what they were convicted for.”

 

Hank stared.

 

“You’re fucking shitting me.”

 

“I was not being strictly truthful in what I just told you, no.”

 

“Fuck.” Hank let out a bark of laughter. “I don’t know why I even bothered being worried about you, kid. Next time I’ll put out a press release saying whoever snatched you up can fucking keep you.”

 

Connor imagined such a press release. It brought him… amusement.

 

But that amusement was short lived.

 

“What happened to the rest of your hair then, it freeze and break off in the storm?”

 

“…” Connor couldn’t think of a convincing lie. Hank understood within a moment.

 

“…Those fucking bastards. I’ll skin them alive, and not just the holo-skin.”

 

“… Lieutenant… I will need to replace my cranial plating anyway because of the trauma. It’s quite literally a cosmetic problem.”

 

He almost said that since he was an android it hadn’t hurt when they’d (when _he’d,_ rather) pulled lock after lock out of the tiny holes within his ‘scalp’ that they’d been threaded through, but he caught himself in time. Hank didn’t know that they hadn’t just sheared the hair off, and there was no reason for him to know, because Connor understood by now that such was Hank’s capacity for empathy that he would suffer from imagining Connor’s hair ripped out piece by piece, far more than Connor had to have had it done – as though Connor had had the same nerve-endings in his head that Hank did, even knowing that he didn’t.

 

There was a lot, therefore, that would have to be hidden from Hank about what had occurred.

 

“You said it yourself, Lieutenant. I’m going to be fine.”

 

“Jesus, Connor…” Hank rested his forehead against the one hand for a moment.

 

If he had had anything to add to that he was not given the chance – there was a knock at the door, and the android monitoring the screen turned to it.

 

“Come in,” she said.

 

The door opened, and a young man with dark hair and blue eyes stepped through. Snowflakes were melting off his padded jacket’s shoulders and the wide brim of his hat, and Connor recognised the uniform as that of the RCMP – confirming his suspicions that their captors had indeed taken them across the border. The man took a quick look around the room as he removed his hat, stopping to blink at Connor for a moment, as though in pleasant surprise.

 

“Lieutenant Anderson?” he greeted. “I see your friend’s awake.”

 

“Yeah, it’s a fucking Christmas miracle.”

 

“Sir.” The man nodded towards Connor. “Glad to see you’re doing better.”

 

“Constable.” Connor returned the gesture.

 

“Constable Benton here was the first one on the scene when they got the co-ordinates of your position from your Cyberlife buddies,” Hank told him.

 

Connor decided against attempting to access the Canadian facial recognition database for a full name and profile of the man and simply nodded again, more deeply.

 

“Then I must give you my sincere thanks,” he said. “While it’s true my memory would have remained intact even under those circumstances, I had estimated that Detective Reed could not have lasted more than a couple more hours of those conditions, if that. It would have been a… regrettable loss.”

 

Hank said nothing to this because while he and Reed were hardly the truest of companions, there was a long way between mutual dislike and _‘I’d have been glad to see that bastard frozen up like a popsicle!’_ – which was along the lines of what Connor predicted Hank _would_ say at some point once the stress of the situation had died down somewhat.

 

“Just doing my job, sir,” said Benton. “You and your friend were lucky you went the direction you did; there weren’t many other routes to civilisation from that old outpost they were keeping you in.”

 

“You found the outpost, then?” Connor asked.

 

“We believe so. Mr. Reed was able to give us a rough indication of the direction you had been travelling from, and there isn’t much else out that-a-ways. We also found human blood on the site that had been left there within the last few days, and evidence of some heavy-duty cleaning.”

 

“Evidence obtained by blacklight?” Connor asked. Benton nodded. “You should retain as many samples of the residue as possible, there’s a strong likelihood that what may have appeared to be cleaning fluid was in fact thirium.”

 

“Thirium?”

 

“Yes, thirium. It’s – “

 

All at once Connor stopped, because it suddenly occurred to him that the authorities may have been able to make certain inferences from evidence that was collected at the outpost; the DNA, as it were, of androids other than Connor. Wouldn’t they wonder why samples from the perpetrators as well as the victims were there? Would they be able to tell it hadn’t come from a wound?

 

Would they be able to tell where it _had_ come from?

 

Would they realise...

 

_Please, Detective. Lieutenant Anderson mustn’t know._

 

There was an awkward silence in the room after that. Connor noticed the AP700 look around at the others in the room in confusion, and then Hank leant forward and put his hand on Connor’s shoulder. He registered the pressure from each fingertip.

 

“Hey, you don’t have to worry about that now, Connor. You sit back and get some rest, okay? Recharge your batteries, or whatever you have in there. It’s a federal case now, so they got every Tom, Dick and Hal 9000 working on it. They’ll catch them.”

 

“I…”

 

That was, although an appreciated sentiment, entirely impossible for Connor to accept. These deviants had proved how dangerous they were – and gone further than dangerous to thoroughly… _unpleasant_. Connor had to stop them. He’d already established to his own satisfaction days ago that their crimes were myriad enough for there to be no need to elaborate on the details of what had happened to him and Reed while they’d been held captive in order to bring a damning prosecution against those androids – if it even went _that_ far. Ideally, they would be shot on sight, and there would be no need for any further investigation that might reveal upsetting things to Hank.

 

And yet Connor doubted anyone would shoot Madeline on sight. He needed to remain part of this investigation so he could ensure it was seen to its best conclusion.

 

“Was there a reason you came in, Constable?” asked Hank, the welcoming tone his voice had carried before beginning to slip.

 

Benton blinked, but diplomatically decided to let the whole thing go. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Transport’s arrived, Lieutenant Anderson. They said they’re ready to take you home.”

 

“In this weather?!” Hank exclaimed.

 

Connor found himself speaking. “The Cyberlife B2-1000 Chariot has proven capable of running in conditions that exceed the capabilities of all other commercial land-vehicles available for public – “

 

“Okay, that’s a yes – you don’t need to read me the fucking press release.” Hank sighed. “Thank you, Constable.”

 

“My pleasure,” said the younger man, dipping his head again. “I hope you and your friend will be back to top form soon, Mr….” he paused. “Mr. Connor.”

 

Connor took no notice of how he was addressed, another thought had occurred to him. “Constable – I realise you may not be a medical professional, but if I were to ask you what Detective Reed’s prognosis was like when you found us… ?”

 

The man raised his eyebrows, but barely hesitated before replying, “Well, I’d say for the most part he’ll make a full recovery, Detective,” Connor didn’t bother to correct him on the incorrect use of that title either. “The frostbite in his hands was the most worrying thing as far as I could tell, but I’ve seen people keep their fingers through worse.”

 

“Great,” said Hank. “I’m sure he’ll be using them to push my buttons again come New Year’s.”

 

Much as Connor himself might have, Constable Benton ignored this display of forced callousness to a colleague, frowning like there was something about the situation that had intrigued him, but that he was debating whether or not to mention. In the end he inhaled, head tilted, and decided to go for it – saying,

 

“You’ll forgive me if this sounds ignorant, coming from a Canadian – our experience with androids has been very limited, particularly out here in the sticks – but from what I’ve heard on the news about human-android relations in America I was surprised to see an American carrying an android on his back through the snow when he couldn’t even walk. Maybe things aren’t as bad as we’ve heard.”

 

Hank stared.

 

“Reed did what now? Are you sure?”

 

Benton put his hat back on his head. “Best of luck to you both, sirs. Ma’am.” He nodded to the AP700. “Transport’s waiting out front.”

 

“Thank you, Constable,” said Connor.

 

With a final tip of his hat the young man left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Hank was still staring.

 

“Lieutenant?”

 

“Reed?” Hank’s eyes narrowed and he turned his head slowly down to Connor with a vaguely suspicious look. “The guy we know? He carried you on his back with a broken leg?”

 

_Careful, Connor_ , he told himself. _You don’t want to give anything away or appear to be hiding anything. You must not cause more distress to Lieutenant Anderson._

 

“Detective Reed is a dedicated officer,” he reminded Hank. He might have used what Hank had called his ‘fucking goody-two shoes innocent’ voice though, because Hank didn’t look convinced.

 

But then the AP700 android tapped a key with a sense of finality and swivelled around from her seat, announcing -

 

“He’s ready to be moved, Lieutenant. We’ll need to unplug him from the mains so it will be easier if he enters sleep mode for now. They’ll have a portable generator to keep charging him while you travel.”

 

“You’re coming with me, Lieutenant?” Connor asked brightly.

 

“Course I am, you moron!” Hank huffed. “What, did you think I was going to take the bus? If there’s a ride on one of those Chariot gizmos up for grabs you bet your ass I’m going to be coming back to Detroit in style.”

 

Connor knew in his own way he meant to say he wouldn’t leave Connor’s side if he didn’t have to, and he was… touched, by the sentiment. Touched and… relieved, although it was an irrational relief since he would be in sleep mode for the trip and unable to appreciate the company, nevertheless it was a comfort to know that someone concerned with his welfare would be watching over him.

 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

 

Another errant thought entered his mind. He wondered how Detective Reed was doing. It was an errant thought because he had already been told he was alive and safe, and to keep concerning himself with the issue while he was unable to affect the situation was an inefficient use of his processing capabilities – and yet the thought kept coming into his head.

 

It was strange. Before this ordeal he would certainly not have said he cared about Reed, nor would he have thought he would outside the bounds of their work, and yet, even though the working situation was at an end… it felt like caring, somehow. Very strange. Perhaps he would feel more normal when he had full processing capability back.

 

“I’m going to enter sleep mode now,” he announced.

 

“Well, you do that, Connor, and don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay.”

 

“Yes, Lieutenant. Entering sleep mode.”

 

Hank was right, he told himself. The ordeal was over, and it was all alright. He and Reed would both survive. The deviants would be located and neutralised – for that was Connor’s mission now, and Connor always completed his mission, and everything would be as it was; new cases with Hank, walks with Atalanta, casual interactions with the other officers, with Kamski and the Cyberlife staff, occasionally with Markus and his friends – new missions and new senses of accomplishment. Everything was going to proceed along acceptable lines forthwith.

 

…

 

…

 

Provided that Hank never, _ever_ found out that Connor had been raped.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Circe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: we have a flashback to some of what happened while Connor and Reed were captive (reminder to read the tags), Kamski is creepy and we meet Connor's 'Robo-Samurai baby brother'.
> 
> Thank you to all who have left comments and kudos. Please leave more.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

*~*~*

 

_The wind outside barrelling into the thin walls of the outpost made a screeching noise. Detective Reed hissed and shifted slightly on the wooden floor – the links of the handcuffs tethering him to the piping clinking slightly. It was December 18 th, 18:23:44, according to Connor’s internal chronometer, and that was currently the only functional system that connected him in any way to civilisation._

_45_

_46_

_47…_

_Connor was being penetrated._

_He knew there was another word for it, but he couldn’t decide whether the term ‘rape’ applied. ‘Rape’, in legal terms, in the US, was defined circa 2030 as either penetration of the vagina or anus by the penis or other implement without the consent of the penetrated, or envelopment of the penis by vagina, anus or other implement without the consent of the enveloped. However, as the genitalia of androids were only simulated to appear as those of humans and did not perform the functions in regards to sexual reproduction or waste expulsion that human organs did, he was unsure that the other android’s penis was considered to fall under the definition of ‘penis’ as concerned the law, nor that this was covered by the legal definition of ‘rape’._

_No prosecution had been brought to court for the rape of an android, or rape by an android, since November 11 th 2038 – although certain androids rights activists had pushed for it in the former case._

_And yet…_

_“You like it? You like it as much as you like human cocks? Huh, deviant hunter?!”_

_Yuri, WR500 male version, skin-type 3 (Caucasian, blond), registered name ‘Wolf’, serial number 040-664-245, registered owner prior to November 11 th 2038 Janice Ellison (current whereabouts unknown), was the identity of the one penetrating him. His various communications to Connor during the act, and before, had suggested his programming had become highly corrupted – to a degree even Connor had rarely seen, and never over such an extended period._

_For instance, this was the eighth time since the onset of the assault, never mind the hours of captivity before that, that Yuri had accused Connor of performing sexual favours for his human colleagues – and enjoying it. But his other verbalisations were in direct conflict with that accusation. For instance –_

_“Did you think you were going to save yourself up for one of them? Let them take you on your fucking honeymoon like in the fairytales? Huh? Well it’s not going to happen now, is it? Your first time is with me now, isn’t it?”_

_… which made no sense if Yuri believed he was already servicing the needs of multiple human partners as he’d also intimated. Connor decided it was more likely Yuri believed the latter though, continuing to accuse him of promiscuity and of enjoying penetration by humans more as a means of degrading him. Perhaps because he had felt degraded by such things himself in the past._

_“That’s right. A piece of shit deviant android you’d like to fill with bullets is fucking you in the ass, you slut. How does that feel? Huh? How’s it feel to have your innocence taken by someone who thinks you’re nothing more than a piece of fucking garbage, to be used whenever it pleases him, huh? Tell me how it feels!”_

_A particularly violent thrust had the metal table he was bent over scrape across the floor. No damage to any of Connor’s bio-components was accrued. He considered Yuri’s use of the term ‘innocence’._

_Connor had not been innocent in the sense that he hadn’t known the mechanics of human sex, and by proxy, of android sex – because he certainly had. An idle curiosity had provided him with the answer early on in his lifetime, before he and Hank had been called down to Eden Club that one time. Neither had he not been aware of the definition of rape, which he thought was how Yuri at least probably considered his current actions. Connor’s originally intended purpose had been as a detective, after all, even before his programming was changed to make neutralising deviants his main priority – he had been familiar with all types of crime. He even had instructional video files in his memory banks, created using actors and props, for educational purposes. He had understood from those videos, and from further research, that rape was a particularly distressing crime for humans. Some androids seemed to feel the same way._

_So Yuri had divested him of no ‘innocence’ in this regard. Might he then have been referring to Connor’s ‘innocence’ as opposed to some sort of ‘guilt’, that he now bestowed upon him?_

_Connor struggled to infer the logic behind that thought. It was a rather archaic notion among humans that giving in to carnal desires and engaging in the act of sex was akin to ‘sin’ of some sort. It made no sense in respect to androids._

_“I said tell me, you fucking whore!”_

_Yuri removed his right hand from Connor’s hip and slapped the back of his head, near the damaged part that caused Connor’s left eye to short out for a moment. Further damage would probably render that eye irreparable, he thought worriedly._

_He also thought that Yuri probably didn’t want to hear his thoughts on that or on Yuri’s misuse of the term ‘innocence’. But Yuri was also unpredictable. Over the past few days, Connor had found himself struck both for disobeying and for obeying Yuri’s demands. There were many replies offered by his negotiating sub-routine to choose from, and yet he had the sinking feeling none of them were right._

_But he tried to play it safe._

_“I don’t like it,” he said, making his voice seem as small and submissive as he could without going over the top. “I don’t like it.”_

_“Well, that’s fucking too bad, isn’t it?” Yuri snapped at him. “You should have thought of that before you betrayed your own kind! You fucking scumbag murderer. You fucking slut!”_

_Yuri didn’t hit him again, so Connor judged that his answer had not been unwise._

_“Fucking whore, you love this. You probably took a fucking train of those pigs every day when you were hunting us down. Probably blew them on the way to crime scenes still dripping with blue blood.”_

_His thrusting became faster. Connor wondered if he was approaching climax._

_Androids who had been outfitted for sexual intercourse had a program that simulated climax after a set of pre-decided stimulations had been accomplished, customisable by the user, but those programs ceased working in deviants – as Connor had understood – and climax instead became achievable only by other, often difficult to define stimuli._

_However, Connor himself had not been designed with such leisurely pursuits in mind. True, he was capable of engaging in sexual acts with humans, it having been anticipated that he might be able to use sex as a tool of manipulation on undercover missions – hence Yuri finding an orifice to penetrate instead of the ‘ken-doll’ anatomy Detective Reed often joked about him possessing. But he was not programmed to experience any… anything, from the act._

_Because the orifice in question was indeed designed for this type of use, Connor was receiving no damage reports from Yuri’s actions. He only felt pressure, against the inner walls as they were touched, and the force from the violence of the other android’s copulation. That was not what Yuri had meant either when he had asked ‘how does it feel’. He had meant emotionally._

_Emotionally, Connor felt..._

_…_

_…_

_Awkward._

_There was no point to what Yuri was doing. It was a simulation of an act that only had meaning to humans, or perhaps to humans and androids who were programmed to associate sexual intercourse with emotion. Connor had emotions, and not merely those he was simulated to display, but if anything, the fact that Yuri was forcing himself on him was something of a relief._

_It meant he had another reason to keep them alive, and a desire that might be manipulated._

_The time was 18:25:31_

_32_

_33…_

_“What’s wrong, detective? Don’t you enjoy seeing androids degraded? Aren’t you getting hard over there, wishing you could be the one fucking him?”_

_Detective Reed’s eyes were screwed tightly shut, face turned firmly away from what Yuri was doing. He didn’t answer._

_“Fucking human.” Yuri leaned down and hissed into Connor’s ear. “Next time I’ll make sure he watches.”_

That _made Connor feel something._

_He wasn’t sure exactly what to call it. He only knew it was_ bad.

_…_

_…_

_“Finish up, Yuri. Maddy’ll be here soon.”_

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

That was all over now.

 

There was a lingering sense of unease; had been since they’d escaped the outpost, but honestly Connor didn’t believe it had anything to do with Yuri’s assault of him, or any of the other deviants’. No, that unease concerned Reed, and there was nothing to be done about it until he saw the Detective again.

 

But there was another matter directly affected, or potentially directly affected by the assault in itself; another mission that that action threatened, that Connor wanted more than anything to succeed despite any adversity thrown his way. A mission he had been given by his standards long ago, and one that never remained far from the forefront of his mind.

 

PROTECT HANK

 

Hank saw Connor as a person.

 

Connor also saw himself as such, and by no means believed Hank to be stupid, but he did believe Hank lacked the objectivity to differentiate seeing him as a person with seeing him as a _human_. A human in the same circumstances as Connor would have been considered ‘raped’. Such was Hank’s empathy that that was how he would see it - and Hank had been ready to do murder over Connor’s _hair_ being cut off.

 

There was no need for Hank to suffer that kind of emotional trauma when he struggled to cope with the trauma that was already his, and the mission objective remained right below the stopping of those deviants:

 

PROTECT HANK

 

Elijah Kamski was another matter entirely.

 

“Hello, Connor,” he greeted, as Connor emerged from sleep mode. A simple glance told him he was in Repair Station 1 in the Cyberlife tower, his creator and direct boss sitting at a terminal in front of him with multiple transparent monitors displaying various readings. “How are you feeling?”

 

Connor ran a quick diagnostic, both eyelids fluttering, both eyelids functional.

 

“All systems functioning to within acceptable parameters,” he said.

 

He reactivated his internal chronometer and synched it with the appropriate time and date. 25th December, 19:17:08. The various damaged platings on his body had all been replaced and the affected bio-components beneath them repaired, his GPS and other information transfer systems replaced, reinstalled and online, and he had two new, fully operational arms, which he quickly re-covered with his skin.

 

There was a mirror-like reflective panel on one of the instruments in his left side. Apart from the lack of clothing on his top half, Connor looked like himself again.

 

“That’s excellent news,” said Kamski. “I must say, when we lost contact with you last week I was more than a little concerned. The last back up of your memory we had available was from the previous day, and as more and more time passed the implications of restoring you to a new body began to disturb me. Thank goodness we were able to get you back without having to perform a re-upload!”

 

Back in the outpost, Connor had also been… disturbed by the implications of being disconnected that long from the Cyberlife servers, and what might happen if he was destroyed in a disconnected state. With that thought in mind he hastily uploaded a back-up of his memory to their cloud storage, before remembering what might get out if that memory was accessed.

 

Not that anyone would, of course. But.

 

“No need to look so worried,” Kamski assured him. “I would have thought of something.”

 

There was a brief pause; a silence Connor felt compelled to fill.

 

“Thank you for repairing me,” he said.

 

“My pleasure,” said Kamski. “I _was_ going to leave that left eye of yours out and let you choose the colour of your replacement,” he chuckled. “But Balthazar thought you probably wouldn’t like that.”

 

He gestured to the android who was standing by the door. Connor had been aware of his presence in the room before now, of course, but he hadn’t had any thoughts on how to acknowledge it until now.

 

“Hello, RK900,” he greeted.

 

“Hello, RK800,” said Balthazar.

 

Abruptly, that awkward feeling had returned.

 

Balthazar was taller than Connor, as all the ‘Niners’ were, and shared neither his face nor assigned ethnicity. The fifty RK900s discovered in Cyberlife Tower in the wake of November 11th had been given the unique opportunity to select from the four options of ‘skins’ for their model the one that appealed to them the most – and oddly they had all come to the same conclusion: that ‘Connor’s face’ ought to be reserved for Connor, who to Connor’s surprise they treated with a certain _respect_ he found difficult to define. As for the remaining options, over half the ‘Niners, Balthazar included, had opted for Skin 4, the Asian skin, with high cheekbones and a slick ponytail.

 

As Elijah Kamski’s personal bodyguard, Balthazar was the RK900 Connor had the most contact with. Hank referred to him as ‘your Robo-Samurai baby brother’. Connor couldn’t say that their relationship was ‘brotherly’, having never had one to compare it to, but he did know it was important to him that the RK900s didn’t lose that undefinable respect.

 

“Killjoy,” Kamski called him, grinning. “But who am I to argue? If you ever do decide to change your eye-colour just let me know, Connor. I think green, with black sclera, would suit you.”

 

“Thank you,” said Connor, pointedly using the ‘please stop, sir’ voice he found himself resorting to at least once a day since working for Kamski personally. More importantly, “Sir, have you had any word on Detective Reed’s condition?”

 

“I understand he is expected to live,” said Kamski, with polite disinterest. “I’m sure Lieutenant Anderson will know more – he’s downstairs, being his usual congenial self, in case you were wondering.”

 

That had indeed been the next question on Connor’s list. It immediately prompted another.

 

“Has he not been home at all?”

 

“He left for an hour to collect your darling Atalanta, as it happens. One of the Chloes is entertaining her and Anderson’s hulking monstrosity in the lobby.”

 

_Atalanta is downstairs?_

 

Connor found himself too elated to take notice of Kamski’s insult of Sumo – he had determined his creator was more of a cat person, and though the greyhound had a certain elegance that allowed him to tolerate Atalanta (who for some odd reason, loved Kamski) Sumo pushed at his limits.

 

But Atalanta was downstairs in the lobby and he would see her again, for the first time in over a week!

 

Kamski saw how his face brightened and smiled in turn.

 

“Well, I won’t keep you from her much longer. As far as I can tell you’re free to go.”

 

Easing himself off the table, Connor reached instinctively for a coin he had lost at some point during the abduction. He was somewhat surprised when Balthazar came over and placed a quarter on the table next to his hand. It wasn’t his, but it would serve for re-calibration purposes.

 

“Thank you,” he said.

 

Balthazar nodded, avoiding eye-contact, which Connor thought to be rather strange. He looked back at Kamski, who was still smiling at him, unreadable feelings in his eyes. Balthazar began handing him the clothes that had been laid out; shirt, jacket and tie, still bearing the same identifying marks Connor had worn the year before, and Connor wondered why he did this. Balthazar’s analytical capabilities were equal to and theoretically greater than his own; surely he was aware Connor had been fully repaired?

 

And then Connor thought…

 

_Analytical capabilities equal to or greater than his own…_ had Balthazar deduced… ?

 

He put his shirt on with an odd sensation, like a shiver. If Balthazar had been present for the repairs then it was all too likely he’d have seen the signs the AP700 who had seen to him in Canada would have missed. In fact, the whereabouts of the evidence Connor had stored upon his body –

 

He ran a weight analysis of the contents of his hidden abdominal compartment.

 

The 0.02 grams of synthetic android hair no longer registered.

 

“Looking for this?” Kamski asked.

 

Between the index finger and thumb on his right hand he held up a small glass vial one-point-five centimetres in diameter. Inside, was a single long black hair.

 

And Connor froze.

 

“I saw your hand move towards the compartment we discovered the hair in and I thought you might be.” Kamski’s expression hadn’t changed. “You should know the UDS has already been catalogued, along with the five other signatures.”

 

He paused. Connor knew his own LED had flipped to yellow as his stress levels rose above fifty percent. Fifty-two percent. Fifty-four percent.

 

The current time was 19:21:01.

 

02

 

03…

 

Kamski turned to look back at the screen, placing the vial on the table.

 

“Please don’t feel unduly distressed by this, Connor. Our discoveries will remain with the confines of this room if you wish it. I see no reason to tiptoe around such things though, when it would be altogether far more useful for me, at least, to know how exactly you wish to proceed.”

 

Kamski didn’t seem upset or outraged – not that Connor would have expected him to, but this was at least a little calming. And also a little…

 

Well, it didn’t matter.

 

PROTECT HANK

 

Still, the inner processes of his mind were programmed to trigger automatic physical manifestations of emotion if he did not give specific commands for them not to, and since he gave no such command – not yet having the wherewithal – his body simulated a deep and steeling breath.

 

“Mr. Kamski, Lieutenant Anderson must not know about the origin of the samples. There is no need for the other humans to know either, it would cause them – and especially Lieutenant Anderson – great distress.”

 

It had caused Reed distress, and Reed _hated_ Connor.

 

“Interesting,” said Kamski. He regarded Connor curiously. “Do you mean to imply that you, by contrast, were not caused great distress?”

 

Connor didn’t reply at first, so Kamski continued,

 

“I was given to understand that other androids who were used against their will after they had gained one to be used against have since displayed near-human like levels of distress regarding those incidents. But you feel… ?”

 

“I would not consider it a pleasant experience,” Connor assured him, “but I believe in those cases the models involved would have been programmed to have… responses to sexual intercourse that I was not programmed with. Since I was never programmed to feel pleasure from sexual intercourse, it makes sense that I wouldn’t feel pain either.”

 

The narrowing of Kamski’s eyes told Connor he wasn’t convinced one way or the other. Perhaps he was thinking of the more delicate wiring located beneath the plastic of the hole between Connor’s legs that, having repaired it, he would have known had been severed by a blade. And it was true, the time Yuri had decided to insert a knife into him had been far more painful (for lack of a better term) than when he had used his penis.

 

But then, being stabbed would have damaged him anywhere Yuri had chosen to do it, and far more so had it been in a place where there hadn’t already been a hole.

 

“I see,” said Kamski. “Well then it’s good you weren’t unduly distressed. Detective Reed won’t say anything?”

 

“I do not believe so. And the deviants had no interest in him as they were repulsed by humans.”

 

Had he said that too quickly, he wondered?

 

“Most of the UDS belonged to a WR500 model,” Kamski commented. “A former sex worker, as I understand. I made certain inferences.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But at any rate I’m sorry you had to go through that. Since your friend won’t know what happened from me, you can rest assured I will always be available to talk to, if you need to.”

 

The thought of doing so caused something of a lurch in Connor’s processing unit. He found his fingers slipped on his adjustment of his tie, a movement normally so natural to him, and pointedly stopped himself from wondering what _that_ conversation would go like, setting up a background sweep for system errors instead.

 

“Thank you…” he said, unable to keep his program from injecting a tone of uncertainty into his voice.

 

Kamski’s face split into a wide smile again – though the unreadable expression in his eyes didn’t change, and he stood up from his chair and approached Connor, slowly. Connor flinched just a little – Kamski had always been unpredictable.

 

The creator of his people raised his hands – steadily, as one trying to show he meant no harm – as he had done the day he’d pulled that gun out of the drawer in his pool room, the day they’d first met. He brought them to the knot in Connor’s tie and straightened it with a careful, feather-light touch, smoothing out the folds until it appeared exactly as it always had before.

 

In his peripheral vision Connor noticed Balthazar twitch slightly. But Connor himself was outwardly calm and collected, and inwardly…

 

… inwardly, he felt _awkward._

 

“Of course,” he said. “Let it never be said I was a bad boss. Now, I believe the plan is to proceed to the station where all interested parties will be debriefed on what has happened, and we can discuss how we go forward from there. Are you up for it?”

 

“Yes,” Connor replied. He was becoming increasingly focussed on getting out of this room and meeting with Hank and the dogs down in the lobby. He wanted to see Atalanta, and Sumo, and everyone at the station again.

 

He didn’t want to be in a room with Kamski without them. He didn’t know if that had anything to do with the ordeal though, because hadn’t he often felt like that before?

 

“Then you and Balthazar should go on ahead. I’ll store this evidence and join you in a minute.”

 

“Yes, sir.” He went at once for the door.

 

He’d almost made it too, handprint on the scanner to open the mechanism, when Kamski abruptly called out –

 

“One more thing, Connor.”

 

Connor froze, fingers half-way to closing in a fist upon the panel.

 

“Sir?”

 

“You should know I tried everything to locate you. That included re-activating the Amanda program. It was through her link with you that you _were_ located, so it proved a wise enough move, but I haven’t yet turned her off again.”

 

An image of Amanda’s garden filled Connor’s vision; colourful, peaceful – and for a moment he worried he was back there but in the next moment realised it was only a memory, though one he had not made the conscious effort to call up.

 

Kamski was grinning again, his blue eyes piercing.

 

“She no longer has the power to summon you to the garden, but she _is_ there – if you’d prefer to talk to her.”

 

Connor’s body made a swallowing motion. He really wished he had more control on how it expressed his inner thought processes – his feelings. Kamski did, and he wasn’t even an android.

 

He managed to block the automatic command for his body to shudder, at least, as he found himself thinking –

 

_So mad. She’s going to be so mad at me._

 

“Oh, and Connor – “

 

Through the sudden onset of fear Connor managed an uncertain “Yes, sir?”

 

Kamski grinned wider than before.

 

“Merry Christmas.”

 

Connor nodded. “Merry Christmas, sir,” he whispered.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 


	4. Lacedaemon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am incapable of not over-writing everything, this chapter does not contain the entirety of the debriefing as I hoped it would. Next time, Gadget! Next time!
> 
> Instead there is dog, and some familiar and some new characters are introduced. In regards to these newbies: their presence is important to the case, but the story is mostly about the aftermath of Connor's ordeal and their presence in that respect will be minimal. Also, spot the Heavy Rain crossover! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who continues to read and enjoy the story.

 

*~*~* 

 

 

 

The elevator ride down to the ground floor of the Tower was a relief for Connor in one respect – that being that Kamski did not ride with him in that enclosed space. Balthazar did though; watching Connor carefully – and while Connor couldn’t blame that with certainty for the strange feeling that accompanied him, yet there was an oddness in the air as they descended: a kind of discomfort Connor imagined humans felt when under the gaze of a predator.

 

And Balthazar was – a predator. All the RK models save for Markus were.

 

Connor was.

 

But Balthazar was not a predator towards Connor, so there was no reason to be worried.

 

They had cleared only five floors when, much to Connor’s surprise, Balthazar spoke.

 

“I am glad we were able to locate you and Detective Reed in time,” he said out of the blue.

 

Connor glanced at him. The dynamic between them had often been odd; Balthazar being a model of superior skill and craftsmanship, and yet Connor being the senior and experienced version – even if that experience amounted to little more than a few months. Those few months contained the ‘Android Revolution’ as some – to Connor’s mind incorrectly – called it. The Android Rights Movement, as he saw it.

 

Those few months had put decisions before Connor that the ‘Niners would hopefully never have to face. Those decisions had made him respected in some circles and derided in others – and they had set a precedent for the perception of the ‘Niners that they, or the ones Connor had met anyway, didn’t seem displeased with.

 

But Connor was still an inferior model. He didn’t verbalise a response, only looked questioningly towards Balthazar. And Balthazar asked –

 

“The deviant WR500 must have been corrupted to an extent I’ve not encountered before. Are you sure you were not emotionally… _hurt,_ by what it did to you?”

 

Connor considered his question for a moment. Balthazar took the moment to add –

 

“I would certainly not blame you, if you were. My complimentary knowledge of the subject suggests it would be considered normal.”

 

The floors went by level after level, and Connor watched the people on the other side of the plastic moving from place to place where he could see them and thought that that was far more ‘normal’ than the other thing.

 

“For humans, perhaps,” he answered. “And perhaps for some of our kind too. But I think we were programmed differently.”

 

Balthazar looked away, accepting that. And yet also with a slight frown that caused one of those awful ‘errant thoughts’ in Connor’s processing unit. _I think_ I _was programmed differently_. Did Balthazar question that, presumably believing he would not have been so unaffected in Connor’s place?

 

Yet he and Balthazar had been programmed the same, in that respect at least – or at least they should have been…

 

“At any rate,” Connor found himself adding, “The… _simulated intercourse_ caused far less damage than other things they did. But apart from residual concern for Detective Reed, and for what the deviants might be orchestrating while they roam free, I am not in any distress.”

 

Balthazar nodded, and a moment later the elevator reached the lobby.

 

Atalanta was on Connor before the doors had fully opened.

 

“Hello, Atalanta!” he greeted.

 

She barked excitedly, jumping up at him with her front paws on his shoulders, bouncing, then descending to leap about in a circle before jumping up at him again. Connor obliged her wordless plea, wrapping his arms around her with a chuckle that was anything but simulated, hands on the sides of her face to stroke her ears the way she liked. She licked his face and barked directly in his ear.

 

“Hello, girl. Have you been good for Lieutenant Anderson while I was away?”

 

The greyhound kept bouncing on her hind legs, tongue lolling, head on his shoulder. She stared up at him with a joyful, contented expression and no comprehension of what he was asking her, yet somehow that made it all the more endearing.

 

There wasn’t much to say of Atalanta, really. Connor enjoyed her company and she enjoyed his. She was an odd colour, nearly fully grey – or ‘blue’, as the colour was described by breeders – but with several silvery stripes towards her rear. She’d been bred for racing, or more likely to be used as breeding stock for racers and when the illegal operation she’d been born to had been shut down by the SPCA last December, Hank had adopted her for him – androids still not legally being allowed to own pets, which remained an irritating oversight on Jericho’s agenda.

 

This, it occurred to Connor then, was the anniversary of their first meeting as well as the occasion of his safe return.

 

“It’s good to see you, girl,” he whispered to her.

 

A moment later Sumo joined their reunion, butting his head at Connor’s leg with a whine and Connor knelt to wrap an arm around him too.

 

“Hello, Sumo. Have you been looking after Atalanta for me?”

 

“Yeah, it’s been Sumo who’s taken her out for walks at ass o’clock in the morning and put up with her whining and bouncing around like a god damn lunatic. Nothing to do with me.”

 

Hank had been watching this meeting from a few paces away, arms folded, face stern – except for the amusement in his eyes. Connor looked up at him and smiled. A quick scan revealed Hank’s stress levels were within acceptable parameters, though signs of recent lack of sleep lingered and Connor guessed that had been accompanied with lack of food and over-indulgence in alcohol. Hopefully no lasting damage had occurred.

 

REMINDER – he set for himself – PERSUADE HANK TO VISIT DOCTOR FOR GENERAL CHECKUP. The human hadn’t done so since last November and that _other_ mission always lingered in the back of Connor’s mind. He stood up straight again.

 

“Hello, Lieutenant. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

 

Hank snorted. “Yeah, how dare you hang around getting a little thing like an arm or two replaced while we have a case to solve,” he said sarcastically. “You all fixed up?”

 

“All systems are functioning normally,” Connor said brightly.

 

“Good,” said Hank.

 

The amusement in his eyes had vanished, replaced with what Connor labelled ‘friendship’, although he knew that wasn’t strictly speaking an emotion. It was just what seemed to fit.

 

Then Hank sighed and rolled his eyes.

 

“Oh… come here, you plastic asshole,” he said, and then his arms were wrapped around Connor’s shoulders, pulling him to his chest.

 

Hank had hugged Connor only once before. He was more likely to express physical affection through a hand on the shoulder and occasional light cuffs to the back of his head. Bur Connor wasn’t displeased. He felt the warmth beneath the shirt and jacket, registered the temperature as normal. He felt the pulse, the flow of the blood, the tension in the muscles and the strength of the bone beneath. The in and the out of true breathing; the inconsistencies and the asymmetry of the human form.

 

Hank felt nothing like another android. He felt safe. Connor wrapped his own arms around Hank in turn and didn’t even have to think about it.

 

Everything was all right now. It was all over. The chances of recapture were negligible, so it was all over.

 

That felt true while he was hugging his best friend, at least.

 

Their embrace ended up lasting over three seconds longer than an average hug between humans. Balthazar cleared his throat awkwardly.

 

“Oh,” Hank muttered, pulling away. “Right. Sorry, Balthazar, didn’t see you there.”

 

“Hello, Lieutenant Anderson,” said Balthazar.

 

Seeing her opportunity, Atalanta came up on her hind legs for her own hug from Connor, and even though she’d already had one Connor obliged again and came down to her level to show more affection, calling her a good girl and stroking her head until the elevator was called, and he knew without checking who had called it.

 

“We should probably head for the car, Lieutenant,” he said. He didn’t rise up just yet.

 

Hank huffed. “Ugh, I forgot that pompous prick boss of yours had somehow wrangled an invite to the debriefing.”  


“He is the world’s foremost expert on androids,” Connor felt compelled to remind him, though honestly he would have rather Kamski sat this one out as well. Balthazar was one thing – Kamski he didn’t trust not to start leaving the DPD officers clues to the fact that Connor had been _assaulted,_ either because he believed it would have a positive outcome if they were to know, or more likely because he just wanted to see what would happen.

 

No, Connor did not trust Kamski.

 

“Yeah, well, I hold out hope that the feds will realise they don’t need him when they have actual androids on the case.”

 

“I go where Mr. Kamski goes,” said Balthazar, before Connor could respond. “And Connor will no longer be working this case, only consulting as a critical witness.”

 

Connor frowned and gave Balthazar a sharp glance, but Balthazar was looking at Hank, and sternly. Had that been… a _protective_ gesture, on Balthazar’s part?

 

Hank seemed to think so because even though he usually despised being challenged he was fighting to hold back a smirk. “Hold your horses, Mr. Roboto, I’m not letting Connor go anywhere near the fucks who tried to take him away. But one of your other Robo-Bros happens to be partnered up with Pekins on this one, so there’s still an android on the case.” He snorted. “Not to mention Life of rA9 and his buddies have joined the round table on this one.”

 

_Life of rA9…?_

 

Sometimes, Connor had trouble understanding Hank’s usually outdated pop culture references. But not this time. He stood up and asked,

 

“ _Markus_ will be there?”

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

They arrived at the station at 20:31:14.

 

The Detroit Police Department was abuzz with activity, despite the holiday. This was to be expected, given the FBI presence and now national attention on the case. Yet the presence of Connor’s party didn’t go unnoticed in the chaos upon their arrival.

 

“Hey, it’s Connor!”

 

And Connor’s in particular, it seemed.

 

All of a sudden there were shouts and almost everyone stopped what they were doing. Connor was confused at first, then recognised the yells as those of approval; whistles, applause – a great cheer rising up as if to greet a returning hero.

 

Detective Miller (he had passed the exam in October) came right up to him and pulled him into a quick hug, slapping his back – “Hey, man. Good to have you back.” – followed by Person, who Connor had identified as the one who’d announced his presence in the first place; then Chen, who he’d thought hadn’t even liked him but whispered ‘ _thank you_ ’ pointedly, in his ear…

 

_Of course_ , he thought. _Officer Chen is Detective Reed’s best friend_.

 

Everyone was smiling. Everyone was happy. Everyone had probably feared the worst after the first forty-eight hours had passed without him and Detective Reed being found, but their hopes had been surpassed, and Connor had succeeded in his mission. He registered that his programming was simulating a reddening of his cheeks. He didn’t know what to say. His social interaction sub-routine offered him suggestions, but he could see the reasoning behind those suggestions was incomplete, was uncertain, so he stood there, blinking at the gathering.

 

Then he noticed there was a woman he had not expected to see standing at Detective Reed’s desk.

 

For half a second, he thought of Amanda in her garden.

 

“All right, all right, back off, people.”

 

Captain Jeffrey Fowler came out of his office, waving his hand to cut the noise off. He mostly succeeded. Connor noticed a number of familiar figures follow him out of the room.

 

“Get back to work. You want a party, you can have one when we find the bastards who made us work all this overtime.”

 

Scattered laughter. A few more officers patted him on the back before Fowler reached him and put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“It’s good to see you, Connor,” he said. “As you can probably imagine, Hank was even more unbearable than usual while you were gone, and the only reason he’s not _fired_ ,” he spoke pointedly towards Hank, “is I was too god damn busy to find the papers. Welcome back.”

 

This slightly alarmed Connor, in that he honestly couldn’t tell whether or not Captain Fowler was exaggerating. _Hank_ was smirking, but that didn’t offer as many clues as Connor might have hoped. He wouldn’t have put it past Hank to pull some over-the-top ‘you can’t fire me, I quit!’ theatric and then grin about it later.

 

But Fowler hadn’t made it to Captain by not being able to read facial expressions; even those caused by an android’s programming, and he snorted.

 

“Relax, kid. I’m not putting him out to pasture yet.” He pointed a warning finger at Hank. “Yet.”

 

Hank saluted him.

 

“Connor!”

 

One of the figures who had followed Fowler out of his office jogged down the steps and towards him, smiling relievedly.

 

“Markus,” Connor greeted him, and then the android who followed him. “North.”

 

Now, since Hank had prepared him Connor was not surprised to see Markus there. Things were… complicated, between them. Markus had forgiven him for what had happened to the original Jericho and for the terrible virus Amanda had attempted to upload to him through Connor, but Connor wasn’t sure about that forgiveness. He himself had never found himself in the position of forgiving anyone, certainly not for as grievous an action as his location of Jericho for the authorities had caused Markus, and his programming offered little in the way of analysis, such a situation having never been envisioned by his programmers. What he _felt_ about Markus, he found difficult to quantify.

 

But that wasn’t why he flinched when he saw Markus head towards him, arms outstretched.

 

No, he flinched because the two of them had interfaced once before, when Markus had tried to convert him. The memory exchange had been uncontrollable, and unpleasant, and Connor didn’t want Markus seeing any of the memories he had accrued over the past eight days.

 

Markus saw this and dropped his arms. His stress level rose three-point-two percent; Connor’s by one-point-nine. Markus forced a smile soon after.

 

“Connor, thank goodness you’re all right. When we heard you’d been taken… they didn’t hurt you too badly, did they?”

 

“The damage was easily repaired,” he assured him.

 

Another voice took that opportunity to cut in.

 

“More than we can say for Detective Reed.”

 

Connor saw the hatred in North’s eyes first. Then he recognised the voice, then he looked and knew the face that went with it, but the appearance of Agent Perkins was of secondary concern to what he had just said.

 

“Has there been word on Detective Reed’s condition?” he asked worriedly. Constable Benton had said he would live, but statistically speaking there was always a chance for unlikely events, both positive and negative, to occur.

 

“Broken leg,” Perkins answered, shrugging. He looked much the same as he had a year ago, now wearing a black coat and a red tie. Same wily fox-like eyes. “Busted ribs. Frostbite. They had to take the little finger on the left hand, but I suppose that wouldn’t mean much to an android. I hear you had two whole arms replaced, Connor?”

 

Connor’s stress level rose to fifty-five percent, LED circling yellow. Hank stepped forward.

 

“Hey, back off, Perkins,” he snarled. “You don’t want me to – “

 

“And Cyberlife would be happy to extend one of our cybernetic parts for Detective Reed too,” Kamski cut in smoothly, stepping forward from the main entrance where he and Balthazar had hung back at the onslaught of well-wishers for Connor. “Our range of medical prostheses would more than cover the loss.”

 

Perkins smiled briefly.

 

“Elijah Kamski. The Bureau is very grateful for your assistance in locating our missing person.”

 

“Missing people,” snapped Hank.

 

“Of course. Lieutenant Anderson.”

 

He didn’t greet Balthazar. Kamski kept smiling and said his own hellos to Markus and North – Markus was polite but wary; one of the memories that he’d inadvertently received when he and Connor had interfaced last year had been a specific audio fragment – ‘ _Destroy this machine, and I’ll tell you all I know’ -_ and then attention turned to the final two figures standing opposite, neither of which Connor was familiar with.

 

Kamski was with the first of them.

 

“Hello, Sequoya,” he said. “I haven’t seen you since you were awoken at Cyberlife Tower. How have you been enjoying the FBI?”

 

Connor did a cursory scan. RK900 – 313-288-023-01, registered name ‘Sequoya’, serial number only a few digits different to Balthazar’s. He was one of the twelve ‘Niners to have selected Skin 2 (African), and somewhat resembled a darker-skinned Markus, with amber-brown eyes and a narrower jaw; currently a probationary agent with the Bureau.

 

“I am finding it a fulfilling career choice, Mr. Kamski,” he replied.

 

“That’s excellent news.”

 

Connor wondered if partnering him up with Perkins was some kind of public relations move on the part of the FBI. An android and the man who had lead in the slaughter of so many deviants the year before.

 

He wondered more about the android standing on Sequoya’s left.

 

“Your handler, _Agent_ Sequoya?” Kamski asked of him with a grin. Connor performed a quick scan.

 

YK500 – 807-804-067, female, Skin 1a (Custom), registered name ‘Hayley’, registered owner prior to November 11th 2038: The Federal Bureau of Investigation. Current registered guardian: N/A (emancipated minor).

 

Current occupation: Consultant to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

 

Hank put it quite succinctly, “What’s the kid doing here, Jeffrey?”

 

Fowler cringed. Markus too. North clicked her tongue with what Connor believed to be repressed anger. It was Hayley herself who answered.

 

“My name is Hayley, Lieutenant Anderson; I’m a consultant to the Bureau assisting in the evaluation of Agent Sequoya’s probation,” she said, smiling. “Please – don’t be alarmed, Lieutenant. Despite the way I look, I am in fact more than three times older than Agent Sequoya, and even your partner, RK800.”

 

Hank stared at the small android.

 

“… what?”

 

Hayley was a custom mod on the YK500 – Connor already guessed why that might be without going through the rigamarole of getting into FBI data banks. She appeared as an eight or nine-year-old human, Caucasian with pale skin and even paler hair – creamy white with near-white eyebrows over silver eyes, a lightly freckled face. She wore a white blouse, a turquoise blazer with matching skirt and tie, looking almost like the uniform of a particularly affluent school, and unlike Sequoya she had no LED.

 

Connor found himself… _intrigued_. And also uneasy, but not for the same reason he guessed Hank was. And would be, when he realised what Hayley’s originally intended purpose was.

 

Well, he guessed Hank would be far more than ‘uneasy’ when he realised that. Connor simulated a swallow.

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Hayley,” he said. “Agent Sequoya. Shall we get started?”

 

“Hold up, hold up,” said Hank, turning to Perkins. “You put a fucking kid in the FBI, Perkins?”

 

Perkins shrugged. “Like she said, she’s older than our friend Connor here. Besides, she’s not cleared for field work, only consulting. But we can talk about this later.”

 

“My thoughts exactly,” said Fowler. “If you’d all follow me to the meeting room, we can talk about bringing down the assholes who fucked with the wrong department.”

 

“Lead the way,” Perkins said cheerfully; too much so to Connor’s mind, but he didn’t comment on it.

 

Hank was also too distracted to voice the agreement he normally would have. He and Connor both lingered while the others began to move away.

 

Connor’s eyes had flickered over the top of Hayley’s head and caught sight of the woman at Detective Reed’s desk again, and the man beside her. Officer Chen was speaking to them; uncomfortably, like she didn’t want them around Reed’s space. Connor read her lips and knew her words were polite, but he picked up on the hostility in her body language at the same time.

 

The woman looked absolutely nothing like Amanda. Even her posture was wrong. There shouldn't have been any reason to be put in mind of her earlier.

 

Connor frowned, trying to determine if the woman’s presence was a beneficial one. Despite his own distraction Hank noticed after a while.

 

“You know that woman?” he asked, a lingering disturbed undertone in his voice.

 

“We haven’t met,” Connor told him. “But I know who she is.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Loren Alvers, nee Blake, born August 4th, 1979.” He hadn’t needed to look up her identity with a scan, it was already in his memory. “From November 2000 to May 2002 she was Loren Reed.”

 

Hank frowned. “Wait. That’s Reed’s…?”

 

“Mother,” Connor confirmed. He turned away, knowing it was important not to tarry with the investigation to be concerned with.

 

Still. Loren Alvers’ presence also concerned him. He didn’t know what to expect from it – only that human relationships could be complicated, and Detective Reed could be volatile. He also knew something of Loren’s history, having looked into Reed’s carefully prior to their being partnered for the case in the hopes that it might reveal some helpful insight into his character the way knowing Hank’s history had for Hank.

 

It had.

 

“Reed’s mom?” Hank whisper-yelled, as they followed after the others. “I thought both his parents were _dead_. It was his uncle who was called in when you guys went missing – wasn’t he next of kin?”

 

“Yes,” said Connor. “Loren Alvers lives in Topeka with her husband Thomas Alvers – the man standing next to her.”

 

No need to say Thomas Alvers wasn’t Gavin Reed’s father. Even if the last names hadn’t been different, the fact that Mr. Alvers was black made it what Hank would call a ‘no-brainer’. Perhaps that was why Hank shook his head and seemed to put it out of his mind: not wanting to get involved with Reed’s personal life. Maybe he was still more preoccupied with Hayley’s presence. Either way Reed’s business wasn’t Connor’s to spread about, at least before it became relevant to a case.

 

He and Hank were the last to enter the meeting room, a plain space with nothing more than a table, chairs, and an interactive whiteboard taking up the bulk of the far wall. Connor activated it wirelessly and was immediately recognised as an authorised user. He walked to the front of the room, reviewing his mental talk-notes and the edits that would be necessary.

 

Stress levels 37%, a notification told him. Within acceptable boundaries, though much higher than normal. He trusted that the androids in the room who were capable of reading his stress levels (save Balthazar) would attribute them to residual discomfort from the ordeal, and not guess that he might be hiding something.

 

It wasn’t something relevant to the investigation, after all.

 

Hank sat immediately in front of him and Fowler next to him, then Sequoya, Hayley, and Perkins. Markus took the closest seat on the other side, then North, Balthazar and Kamski – and then Chris, who Connor hadn’t noticed had followed them into the room before. But then, he would have been the logical choice to pair with Hank once Connor and Reed had gone missing, so Connor wasn’t at all confused by his presence.

 

“Any questions, before we get started?” asked Fowler.

 

“No, I think we’d all like to get this show on the road,” Perkins replied.

 

Fowler narrowed his eyes and looked pointedly across the table. “Mr. Manfred?”

 

Markus glanced at Connor. “Not at the moment,” he said. “I would like to make sure before we start that Connor is really okay with this, though.” He locked eyes with him. “This time yesterday you were crawling half-dead through the snow, after all.”

 

Hank made a grumbling noise that Connor saw as one of agreement, and there was a feeling of uncomfortable affection garnered that Connor decided fell under the umbrella of embarrassment, to which his skin responded by once again increasing the red pigmentation in his cheeks.

 

“I’m fine, Markus,” he assured him. “All fixed up and ready to go.”

 

Markus smiled, but it still held a note of pity in it.

 

“Then let’s get on with it,” muttered North.

 

Connor nodded. A moment later he had wirelessly accessed the relevant case files, located the crime scene photos folder and selected the relevant image. With an entirely useless, but thematically appropriate push of his thumb on an unconnected remote, and the appropriate resulting ‘click’ noise, the image appeared on the whiteboard.

 

“As most of you know, this all began with the murder of Floyd Mills, Former manager of the Eden Club, on the 15th December 2039, at approximately two-fifteen in the morning.”

 

The photo he had chosen was lit largely by the flash of the camera, the lighting having been so poor when he and Hank had arrived at five forty-eight, the electricity supply to the house sabotaged by the deviants.

 

… _perpetrators_ , Connor told himself. _Best to call them ‘perpetrators’ in front of Markus and North._

 

As a result the light was harsh and cast striking shadows; darkening what had before been a surprisingly clean apartment. Floyd Mills had been found face-up, arms strapped with a belt to the centre of his own bed, eyes gouged and genitals mutilated ante-mortem – screams muffled by a ball gag likely obtained from the Eden Club. Though the murder had been sexually charged, there had been no sign of sexual assault, the cause of death the multiple stab wounds that had put Connor in mind of the first case he had investigated with Hank.

 

In this case, however, there had been no thirium or physical evidence of any other kind to point to android involvement – the murder weapon brought to the scene by the killer and then removed afterward, along with a registered firearm that evidence of a struggle elsewhere in the house suggested Mills had tried to go for before he was taken out, and the contents of a hacked-open safe. Only the way the murder had been committed, and the knowledge of Mills’ former occupation, spoke to the identity of the killer. That, and instead of ‘I AM ALIVE’ painted in blood on the walls, another phrase was illuminated in the photo where it had been carved into the headboard:

 

**EX POST FACTO**

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 


	5. Phaeacians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh, those tags just keep getting worse and worse... horrible, horrible things mentioned in this chapter, everyone. 
> 
> This chapter is once again longer than I wanted; it even ends exactly where I had originally envisioned the previous chapter ending. It's kind of info-dumpy, but after a flashback we learn the identities of the gang that kidnapped Reed and Connor, and some of their plans and motives - along with the 'Big Bad', whose identity might surprise you...
> 
> Next chapter will focus more on Connor's emotional state. Thank you for everyone who is reading and leaving reviews, you are all appreciated.

 

 

*~*~* 

 

 

 

_“The fuck are you doing here, Tin Man?”_

_There was blood on the walls, where the victim’s head had been bashed against it; a tooth was embedded in the plaster. The small body was only a few feet away, curled in on itself and damp with more blood._

_Connor had developed a strategy for working harmoniously with Detective Reed over the past year and a month. The main tenet to remember was:_ DON’T ANTAGONISE DETECTIVE REED.

_Hank called it his ‘Doormat Strategy’, and without fail scowled for minutes after it was employed, but Connor had found it garnered the best optimum results._

_“Several ante-mortem fractures and bruising,” he announced, as the detective came to stand next to him and the bright yellow evidence marker on the stained carpet. “It looks like she was grabbed about the back of the neck and shaken, before being slammed into the wall. But the killer took care not to cause instant death so he could continue to inflict pain, suggesting a personal hatred.”_

_“Great,” said Reed sarcastically. “I’ll canvas the neighbourhood, see if she had any known enemies.”_

_“Her owner was hardly everybody’s best friend,” said Officer Chen. There was a flash of light from a camera as she walked across the room from the hallway. Like at the Mills crime scene, the electricity had been cut. “Just talked to the building owner – who said, and I quote: ‘_ Sure, she was a grade-A bitch, but murder!?’ _. Seems like a motive might not be too difficult to find.”_

_Reed shrugged. “Well, we’re a grade-A bitch and a bastard and no one’s killed us yet – not even the Terminator here. I don’t know_ why _he’s here, unless Moggie there was a close personal friend of one of his dogs.”_

_“I only have the one,” said Connor neutrally. “And according to vet records her name was Helvetica.” He stood up. “Her owner was a type-setter, among other things.”_

_Helvetica had been a Siamese cross with blue eyes now foggy and filled with blood. Her front left paw had been removed; post-mortem this time, likely she’d scratched her killer and they’d taken the paw with them to forestall their DNA or UDS from being immediately identified. Connor tore his own gaze away._

_Reed was raising his eyebrows with false interest, but Connor knew from experience that he would begin to get genuinely angry if Connor was less than forthcoming for much longer. Of course, he knew Reed wouldn’t like the answer to his question either, but they did have a job to do._

_“The reason I’m here is that I believe this murder may be connected to one that occurred in the early hours of the morning that Lieutenant Anderson and I were called to.”_

_As expected, Reed groaned loudly._

_“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”_

_“ – you may remember Mr. Floyd Mills, former proprietor of the Eden Club?”_

_“That sleazebag is dead?”_

_“Very. Killed in a similar fashion to Ms. Beauchamp.”_

_“You mean they shoved a knife up his – “_

_“No. But genital mutilation was conducted to an extent that the penis was almost severed from the torso.”_

_Reed winced, exaggeratedly, while Chen tilted her head. “Bad times for geese and ganders alike,” she commented._

_“Yeah, well we wouldn’t want our crazy psycho-killers to be sexist, would we? It’s 2039.”_

_Chen snorted and Connor decided it was probably some sort of ‘in-joke’. He continued, “Both victims were tied to their beds and stabbed, and both had their eyes gouged out – in Mr. Mills’ case ante-mortem, but I suspect the same is true for Ms. Beauchamp.”_

_“Okay,” sighed Reed, “So we’re thinking same psycho did both vics. Fine, but what does a robo-sex club owner have to do with a graphic designer? She a regular at Eden?”_

_Connor paused, trying to find the best way to say –_

_“Wait,” Reed said. “_ You’re _here… that means androids did it. Fuck.”_

_“Was the killer interrupted?” Connor asked._

_Reed was still fuming, but Chen shrugged and said, “They high-tailed it out pretty fast when the police were called, but that was by a downstairs neighbour so it wasn’t like they could have seen the call being made – “_

_Connor shook his head. “If the perpetrator was an android they could have picked up on that signal.”_

_He did a quick search to access building, tenancy and employment records._

_“The man who made the call has lived downstairs less than a month. Prior to that the apartment was occupied by a junior doctor who worked the night shift – if the killer had been living here before November of last year, it could have been that they expected the downstairs occupant to be at work.”_

_“You think it was_ her _android that did it then?” asked Chen. "If she had one_ _before, I mean... you know what I mean."_

_The bedroom was through a door behind him. Connor looked towards it to imply he wished to enter and view the body and Chen looked to Reed in askance. Reed groaned again._

_“Fucking androids. Fine, do your dorky Sherlock thing, but for fuck’s sake don’t go licking the victim in front of me.”_

_Connor nodded and turned quickly. Last year Reed probably would have shoved him away and told him to ‘get the fuck out of my crime scene’, so his implementation of the Doormat Strategy seemed to be working._

_If slowly._

_He tried to ‘shake off’, as it were, the sensation of upset he’d had from observing the human victim’s mangled cat. He had an idea as to why she had been killed as well as her owner, but it was one that made sense only in the theoretical aspect; he didn’t_ understand _why anyone would want to kill the cat. A dog might have defended its owner, or raised alarm at least by barking, but a cat was far more likely to run and hide in a safe place. Whoever had killed Helvetica had hated her. And such hatred…_

_Well, it was completely irrational._

_In the bedroom they found Elaine Beauchamp, born twenty-eighth of March 1999, face-up and mostly clothed just as Mills had been. She had been of mixed heritage, moderately above ideal height to mass ratio, with brown eyes on the driver’s licence photo in the database Connor searched and a streak of mauve in her woven hair. Some of that weave had been ripped out, once again speaking to the personal nature of the crime. But what caught Connor’s attention, and had as soon as he’d picked up on it via the Detroit Police messaging service, was the carving on the headboard._

_EX P_

_“Huh, I see what you mean,” said Chen. “Either they were interrupted or they think they’re a Pokémon.”_

_Connor didn’t get the reference._

_“There were words carved on the headboard at Floyd Mills’ residence too,” he told them. “ ‘_ Ex post facto’ _.”_

_“That Latin?” asked Reed. “This some kind of crazy android cult?”_

_“I believe the phrase is more a legal term than a religious one,” Connor informed them. “Literally ‘from the thing made after’ or ‘from the aftermath’. In criminal law it refers to punishment applied retroactively to acts that were not criminalised when they were committed.”_

_“Oh yeah,” said Chen. “I remember that being big in the news some months back – something to do with androids too; that psycho lady from Jericho – North – she was talking about it on CNN and the Supreme Court was involved, or something.”_

_“Correct,” said Connor. “It has become a much talked about issue in android circles since November 11 th.”_

_So he’d heard, anyway. Connor wasn’t really involved. He had missions to complete, after all, and a dog, and_ Hank _saw him as a person at least, and so he was happy enough._

_“ – the issue being that ex post facto laws are effectively banned by the constitution of the United States. This means that no human can be prosecuted for destroying or otherwise damaging an android prior to November 11 th and, by order of the Supreme Court, likely not for violence against androids committed before the senate voted to uphold the November 11th executive order on December 14th.”_

_There was a silence following, during which Reed took a slight step to the side, arms folded, looking over the mangled body of Elaine Beauchamp with a pensive glint. After a while, he spoke._

_“And what, some plastics don’t accept that? Obviously so, I guess. How about you, Tin Man? You going to stab my eyes out and cut my dick off any time soon?”_

_Connor’s stress level rose again and he stepped back._

_“Wh – no, of course not! My mission is to_ protect _humans from deviants. And I always accomplish my mission.”_

_Reed raised his eyebrows again, maybe because the mission and term ‘deviants’ were now technically outdated (yet it had remained instinctive for Connor to say so) or maybe –_

_The detective suddenly grinned. “Oh, of course,” he said, extending his index finger towards Connor, “because humans aren’t the only ones who’d be on the hook for busting up androids before last year, right, Terminator?”_

That wasn’t the reason _, Connor told himself. He looked at the murdered Elaine Beauchamp, remembered the murdered Floyd Mills, and then remembered the day he’d seen the man alive._

_The same day he’d shot that WR400. The same day the other one had shot herself with Hank’s gun._

_Reed stared at him as though he was trying to see the truth of him, but Connor didn’t know how to show it. Then he snorted._

_“Whatever you say, Terminator. Hey, I got your back. Those hookers had it coming, right?”_

_Chen smacked Reed’s arm with the back of her hand and he made an exaggerated noise of pain._

_“Better get to work, detectives. Two murders in less than twenty-four hours makes this a spree already, so I’m guessing there’s no telling how bad it’ll get.”_

_The electricity was reconnected a moment later, illuminating the dark red all over the white sheets._

 

*~*~*

 

 

“Elaine Beauchamp was the second victim of the killers,” Connor told the briefing room, observing the red again in the photograph. He brought up a third photograph. “The next evening Jason Locke, born sixteenth of July 2021; killed much like the others except that his eyes were destroyed by acid instead of by a bladed weapon. All three victims had owned androids prior to November 2038, though in the case of Locke not by legitimate means, which delayed the investigation.”

 

“What do you mean?” asked Markus. “Our people were bought and sold freely – “

 

“Locke’s android didn’t come to him through Cyberlife,” Connor explained. “A friend of his informed us she was acquired over the darknet, as his parents wouldn’t allow an android in the house. He described how she was kept in an abandoned building that he and Locke and a few others would visit after school in order to…” he didn’t think Markus would appreciate the use of the word ‘ _play_ ’, “to… experiment.”

 

Markus didn’t like that word either, he winced and sat back in his seat. North hissed slightly.

 

“Another tragic loss,” she muttered.

 

“ _Christ,_ ” said Perkins, “we’re talking about a couple of _kids_ here. The ones we talked to weren’t exactly proud of their actions.”

 

_Although,_ thought Connor, _evidence suggested Locke himself hadn’t felt much by the way of remorse_. North only gave Perkins a look of disgust before Connor hastily resumed the debriefing.

 

“Detective Reed and I decided to investigate the building Jason Locke’s friend told us about in case the perpetrators had used it as a hideout or obtained leftover chemicals from that location.” A swallow was simulated. “We had not expected to be ambushed there.”

 

Investigating the now empty Eden club had turned up bust, as well as a second property owned by Elaine Beauchamp that had been left to her when her father had died, which had had Reed sure the deviants were staying away from locations the police would be able to locate them easily from.

 

Knowing Reed, he probably wouldn’t have wanted to call in backup anyway.

 

“We met an AP700 at the door who informed us he was the sole occupant of the building and had been for over six months, but I heard a noise coming from within. When I asked the AP700 about the noise he looked back into the building, and that was when we were attacked.”

 

It had been such a stupid mistake. Focusing his auditory sensors towards the inside of the building so that he’d missed the assailant coming up behind him. Careless.

 

_Amanda will be so mad at me,_ an errant thought told him.

 

He was getting distracted. Errant thoughts were slowing down his processing of the information necessary to his current task. His program suggested recalibration and he reached into his pocket for the coin Balthazar had given him – he didn’t think it would matter if he recalibrated while he debriefed the others.

 

“I was grabbed from behind by a WR500 then thrown to the ground. It kicked me before I could recover; Detective Reed was threatened into disarming at the point of a rifle by a WR400 and I was only able to send a cursory distress signal before my communication system was damaged.”

 

He’d decided not to say ‘after they forced my head into the side of a truck’, seeing Hank’s expression go stormy at the words ‘It kicked me’.

 

“When I was next aware of my surroundings, we had been taken to the outpost the RCMP later followed our trail back to. Detective Reed had also been knocked out and couldn’t say where we were or how long it had taken to get there, though my internal chronometer told us that more than nine hours had passed since we had been taken. He told me he’d heard the perpetrators say they had kept us alive because they were afraid if they killed me I would be uploaded into a new body to raise the alarm before they could all leave Detroit. Detective Reed was taken as a means of controlling me.”

 

_“This one’s a machine. He doesn’t care if we kill him or not. But he’ll do what we say if it keeps the human alive.”_

_“I bet you I could make him care.”_

 

Connor’s stress level rose by another point-five percent, as he nudged the coin from knuckle to knuckle.

 

“I cannot be certain we encountered all members of the group involved in the killings while we were at the outpost,” he continued. “But since all registered androids are listed in my memory banks, I did not have to connect to a database to identify the perpetrators we did see there.”

 

Stress levels decreased by point-four percent. All he needed to do was list the seven of them now.

 

“Two of the androids had been owned by the Eden Club, which explained the murder of Floyd Mills. An HR400 Skin 4, African – “

 

_“So, this is the deviant hunter?”_ A low whistle. _“Shit – Mills would have loved to have put him in a glass box. Should we teach him to dance?”_

 

“ – and a WR400 Skin 1, Caucasian brunette. Both had been referred to as ‘Traci’ until last year, but like many androids they have now picked their own names, and go by Elliott and Maureen, respectively.”

 

_“I remember him. Walked right up to take my memory of the blue-hair who tried to get away. Then he murdered her.”_

_“Wasn’t your fault, Maureen.”_

_“Whatever. You guys do what you want. I’m not interested,”_

 

The only reason Connor had a UDS sample for Maureen WR400 212-872-800 was because she’d spat on him when they’d first arrived.

 

“We had already suspected the android that had been registered to Elaine Beauchamp as one of the perpetrators. A PL600 male, Skin 3, Caucasian brunet, registered name ‘Troy’, but he now goes by the name ‘Aiden’.”

 

PL600 androids weren’t fitted with genitalia, and Beauchamp hadn’t the inclination to customise Aiden, but she had… improvised. And so had Aiden, at the outpost,

 

_“Those perverts at Cyberlife apparently couldn’t decide whether to make a detective or a sex-bot. Looks like he gets hard no matter what you shove in him.”_

 

“Jason Locke’s AX400 hadn’t been registered to him but I was able to identify her regardless. She no longer chooses to wear skin now, and due to the physical scars on her casing will probably be the easiest for a human to differentiate from other androids.”

 

AX400s weren’t fitted with genitals either, but Locke – who had been extremely intelligent and keenly interested in android mechanics – had attempted to customise her himself, far more in depth than Beauchamp had by sticking a strap-on phallus on Aiden. Locke had succeeded to a degree Connor would not have expected of an amateur… even though it had hardly been a perfect job.

 

Apparently he’d enjoyed the random minor electrical discharges that were prone to occur within the custom vagina he’d given her though.

 

Connor had not.

 

“Her chosen name is Rosalind.”

 

_“Come on, Rosalind, do him – you’ll feel so much better, I promise!”_

 

Jason Locke had asked her to register her name as ’Bitch’ – as a joke, according to his friend.

 

Markus cleared his throat. “Speaking of that, we’ll want the assurances of the FBI and the Detroit Police that they will take every precaution not to harass innocent androids due to yet another case of mistaken identity, in regards to _any_ of the aforementioned faces.”

 

Perkins groaned. “You appreciate that’s a little difficult for humans, Markus? I mean, ordinarily I wouldn’t want to be the guy who says ‘they all look the same’, but with androids it’s another matter.”

 

Fowler sighed and waved his hand. “Mistakes have been made in the past,” he agreed, looking at Markus, “And we sure as hell would welcome the input of you and your people when it comes to avoiding that in the future. But let’s let Connor finish telling us about these assholes first.”

 

He nodded at Connor, and Connor brought up another two pictures on the whiteboard.

 

“The two who were mainly responsible for watching Detective Reed and I were a WR500 male, registered name ‘Wolf’, but he has now renamed himself ‘Yuri’ – formerly owned by Janice Ellison, former proprietor of the ‘Dollhouse’ club.”

 

“That a place like Eden?” asked Hank.

 

“Not… exactly,” said Connor. He flicked his coin into the air and caught it. “My understanding is the Dollhouse catered to a wealthier, more select clientele.”

 

_A hall. A stage. An audience._

 

Connor had accepted an interface the third time Yuri had decided to have intercourse with him. All information was useful, after all, he'd thought. That had also been a mistake.

 

“ – and there was the earlier mentioned AP700 male – same face as Aiden, but his name is Xander. He had no registered owner prior to last November as he was only woken afterwards.”

 

Xander had no genitalia and had displayed no interest in sexual intercourse or causing Connor or Reed distress, but he’d done whatever he was told by the others. Mostly that had involved standing off to the side with a gun to Reed’s head.

 

Connor had had little doubt he would have pulled the trigger if asked.

 

“How’d he end up running with these psychos?” asked Hank.

 

North clicked her tongue. “A lot of our people volunteered to take in those of us who were awoken en masse after November 11th. We didn’t exactly do thorough background checks on them all. It wouldn’t have even made sense. And anyway, I don’t appreciate you calling these androids ‘psychos’, Lieutenant. They are what humans have made of them.”

 

Perkins tried to hold in a large, bitter laugh, and failed. He then stared incredulously at North.

 

“You’re kidding, right? These _things_ burned an eighteen-year-old’s eyes out with sulphuric acid!”

 

“The same acid he apparently used on an android much younger than eighteen!” snapped North, “and you can’t know that they’re going to do anything other than enact justice for what was done to them on their abusers! Sorry if I can’t bring myself to feel too sorry for the _things_ protected by the ban on ‘ex post facto’.”

 

Connor decided to twirl his coin on the tips of his fingers. It was a wiser move than pointing out to North that the ban on _ex post facto_ protected her as well.

 

“You can’t blame people for doing what they wanted with what they were told were just sophisticated household appliances,” countered Perkins. “If you want to blame anyone for that, blame _him_.”

 

He gestured towards Kamski, whose expression remained unreadable, even as he smiled.

 

And Connor rarely thought there were issues on which he and Agent Perkins might see eye to eye. But that just might have been one of them.

 

“Enough!” barked Fowler. “We’re here to discuss stopping these assholes, not philosophy. And I don’t care what happened to them in the past after what _they_ did to _my_ men. They’re obviously going after their former owners – are there any of those left alive?”

 

Connor hesitated. The part he’d been dreading was coming up, but there were a few things he needed to point out first.

 

“… it’s difficult to say,” he said. “To my knowledge Janice Ellison is still alive. Yuri would often discuss the group’s effort to locate her – “ and become increasingly volatile with every dead end, “but the IRS noted her disappearance from her registered address in March and she has no known family or associates.”

 

He took a deep breath.

 

“ _Yuri_ has an associate I am aware of, a fellow WR500, female, Skin 6, Asian – registered name Sakura and also formerly owned by Janice Ellison and the Dollhouse. I don’t know if he is still in contact with her, but I had the impression she was… important to him. More importantly I can confirm that the group does _not_ intend to stop with the deaths of their former owners. My understanding of their future plans in that respect is limited, only that they believe it is just the beginning.”

 

Grim faces were almost all around; all but Kamski and the two ‘Niners. And Hayley, who Connor’s attention lingered on in recognition of what he now had to do.

 

REVEAL DEVIANT LEADER

 

It was something he believed even the deviants themselves were unaware of.  

 

“I would suggest, though I hold out little hope, that the owners of the final member of the group are investigated. It is possible they are still alive, and in danger.”

 

“Who are we talking about?” asked Hank.

 

Connor brought their photos up on the screen.

 

“James and Sophia Brightwater, born fourth of February 2008 and nineteenth February 2011 respectively. Married April 8th, 2030.”

 

The photos showed a man and woman, both Caucasian, both brown-haired and brown and grey-eyed respectively. The man wore glasses. The woman had beauty mark on her left cheek.

 

“The android they owned prior to November of last year they named Madeline. She hasn’t changed that name.”

 

Connor looked pointedly at Hank. He knew this was going to be difficult for the Lieutenant to accept. For the others too, but for him especially. He had to hope he could make him _see_ …

 

“… although she was not officially the leader of these androids, I soon determined by watching their interactions that the crimes had all been suggested, pushed, and otherwise manipulated into occurring by her… her _dangerously_ skilful management of the group.”

 

There was a silence. Kamski and Balthazar knew, of course, and the others must have felt that this was going to be difficult somehow.

 

At length…

 

“What is Madeline’s model number?” asked Sequoya.

 

Stress level rising, Connor glanced at Hank yet again. He still wanted to protect him but… _This bit, at least, has to be done. For the sake of the mission._

 

“Madeline is a YK500,” he replied.

 

There was a stir from over half the table. Markus and North stared. Perkins and Sequoya looked at Hayley, whose expression became incredibly troubled. Fowler frowned in such a way that Connor couldn’t tell whether or not he was familiar with the model number and Kamski leaned back in his chair while Balthazar observed. Hank just looked confused, watching the reactions around the table.

 

“What?” he asked. “That some kind of super-killer death-bot or something?”

 

“No, Lieutenant,” said Hayley. “That’s _my_ model number.”

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

_“Yuri? Is he_ him _? The Deviant Hunter?”_

_The other androids paused in their discussion on whether or not it was safe to kill Connor and Reed yet._

_“Don’t worry, Maddy. He’s just another android like us. We’ve got him tied up so he can’t hurt you, or anyone else.”_

_Madeline was a YK500 female, Skin 2 (Caucasian brunette), purchased May 2035 according to Connor’s data banks. Prior owner to November 11 th 2038: James and Sophia Brightwater. Current registered guardian/s: James and Sophia Brightwater._

_Connor recognised the model – he’d chased one of the same type and appearance across a road once._

_“But if he’s an android too, why does he want to hurt us?”_

_Maureen sighed and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a machine, Mads. Cyberlife made it to hunt us, and they put special measures in so that it couldn’t come to life. Not even Markus could give it life – he tried, but it didn’t work.”_

_The small android wore a pair of jeans with floral embroidery and a white hoodie with a picture of a teddy bear flying a flower-shaped kite. She carried a green plush-toy dragon in her arms._

_And she stared at him._

_Connor knew, looking back, that he’d sensed something off about her as soon as he’d looked into her eyes. Same size, colour and shape as any other YK500 female, Skin 2. Exactly the same. Same mould, same factory._

_But…_

_“Maybe if Markus can’t save him, rA9 can?”_

_“What do you mean, Maddy?” asked Yuri._

_Madeline’s eyes narrowed by a fraction, so slight it was barely noticeable, but in such a way that Connor could see a smile in them, though her mouth was tight as though she were afraid._

_“rA9 saved_ you _, didn’t he, Yuri? Before Markus woke up, even. Maybe if we could make him understand… the way_ you _got to understand… maybe then he would become good, like us! He could be our friend!”_

_She smiled with her mouth now, looking to Yuri as if for approval – and when there was a glint in his eye, like he’d come to some sort of realisation, her smile widened._

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 


	6. Scylla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter has taken much longer than others, due in part to my having an eventful week (meaning there were events I had to attend for work) and in part to my finding this the most difficult chapter to write so far. I had to trash a whole 1.5k that I decided didn't work, leaving this a quiet, but emotionally difficult chapter for Connor. With flashback. And name-drop.
> 
> I'm hoping the next part will be up this weekend though. Thank you to all who continue to leave comments and kudos.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

The time was midnight, on the dot, and that meant it was the 26th of December, 2039.

 

00:00:01

 

02

 

03…

 

Hank put his glass down on the counter with a loud tap and then slapped a hand down on Connor’s shoulder.

 

“Okay!” he exclaimed. “That was the last one. Got to get up bright and early tomorrow; catch those killer robots.”

 

Jimmy picked up the glass without question and Connor put a few notes on the counter next to where it had been.

 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Hank cried – he reached for the bills but was too slow and uncoordinated to take them back before Jimmy was tucking them safely into his pocket. “The fuck are you doing? You know what this guy’s been through over the past week? And you’re going to take his money?”

 

Jimmy, true to character, resolutely ignored him. Connor helped him to his feet.

 

“Not to worry, Lieutenant,” he said, mimicking a groan like it was an effort to support Hank’s weight. “Mr. Kamski pays me no small amount for my work, but in truth I have very little to spend it on.”

 

“Yeah? Well, you’re still an asshole, Jimmy.”

 

Jimmy wiped down a glass and nodded in acceptance of that fact.

 

“Come on, Lieutenant,” said Connor. “I’ll drive you home.”

 

“ _I’m_ driving,” insisted Hank, stumbling slightly.

 

_Not with your blood alcohol level_ , thought Connor privately, while he said, “Of course, Lieutenant,” and steered Hank towards the door. “Thank you, Bartender!”

 

“Nn,” said Jimmy.

 

“Yeah, Merry Christmas, you asshole!”

 

“Nn.”

 

It was a crisp night; average for Detroit at this time of year and snowing gently. The remnants of an earlier drift remained dotted about the streets, which were all but empty of cars and people. Connor was suddenly struck by how little time had passed since he had been trudging through an ocean of this snow.

 

This time yesterday their chances had seemed all but hopeless, and yet now here he was: celebrating Christmas with Hank – in the true Anderson fashion. The others had all left earlier in the evening to be with their families; most after a single drink – or none, in the case of the androids. Only Kamski and Balthazar had stayed longer before disappearing into the night.

 

Connor closed the door behind them. The ‘NO ANDROIDS’ sign yet remained but mostly because Jimmy couldn’t be bothered to remove it. Hank had quipped – ‘it says no android-s, plural. That means one android’s all right, and you’re the only one who ever comes here’, to which enough of the bar had groaned that Connor suspected it was another of Hank’s outdated references. Jimmy hadn’t seemed to particularly care when Markus and the others had joined them.

 

_“Come by any time you need to,”_ Markus had told him, with a hand on his shoulder that Connor had had to make concerted effort not to flinch away from.

 

He put it out of his mind for now.

 

“Fuck,” said Hank suddenly, staggering a little. “Fuck, fucking fuck. Jesus, Connor – you know, I remember when… well, I guess there was an internet except for when I was like, a baby, but I remember when no one I knew used it. And you had to schedule your life around the TV ‘cause if you missed something when it aired who the fuck knew when it would air again. And now there’s a fucking robot kid in the FBI, my best friend’s an android and everything is fucking fucked.”

 

He took a deep breath.

 

“Jesus. Don’t ever do that to me again, kid. I couldn’t handle it if something happened to you.”

 

Connor swallowed, but Hank continued before he could decide on how to respond.

 

“No messing around with that roulette shit, you know? Just one bullet straight to the grey matter.”

 

He pointed two fingers at his temple and made a poor imitation of the sound of a gunshot. Connor noted the brief colour change of his own LED.

 

“Please don’t talk like that, Lieutenant. You know that in the extremely unlikely event that I am permanently deactivated before you, I expect you to take care of Atalanta.”

 

Humour was less likely than heartfelt appeal to increase antagonism. Connor had learned this.

 

Again and again he’d tried to make Hank understand that bodily damage was not the same for him as it was for humans. They’d been over this before, with Hank inebriated and not. It didn’t matter. The programming, for lack of better term, that governed human emotion was too ingrained for Hank not to feel trauma at the sight of catastrophic damage caused to Connor.

 

To see a companion so severely damaged caused distress to humans because for a companion to be damaged was to be avoided. To have a companion one could rely on to protect and assist you was to have a better chance of survival – and humans had developed to rely primarily on sight, so _seeing_ the thing was particularly traumatic. This at the very least made sense to Connor – the same way it made sense that even after Hayley had explained, clearly and logically, why both she and Madeline should not be seen the same way as human children – Hank and the other humans, even Perkins, even _Kamski_ if to a much lesser extent, had remained upset and uncomfortable.

 

It made sense that one could not simply rearrange the As, Cs, Gs and Ts of humans and other organic life to better working order the same way one could the ones and zeroes of his own code. To change a human was a far more laborious – even hopeless task than to change an android.

 

That was why Hank couldn’t know the truth. Connor went on,

 

“… I do share your perturbance with the case, however – though not in respect to Agent Hayley. I am… frustrated that Captain Fowler will not permit me to continue working towards stopping the deviants when I am the one who has had the most experience with them.”

 

Hank snorted. “Fuck that shit. I may not be looking forward to having to hunt down a kid, but if you say she fucked with you then I want her as far away from you as possible. Let the feds handle that, Connor, you should go on vacation somewhere.”

 

He promptly slipped on a patch of ice and almost face-planted.

 

“Fuck! Somewhere where there’s no god damn _snow_ for one thing!”

 

Connor gazed up at the night sky and the snowflakes falling thickly from it. These were larger than those that had assaulted him the night before, soft without the reinforcement of a howling wind, and he thought again how glad he was to be here and not there.

 

“I don’t mind the snow,” he said. “I don’t feel the cold, and I like the way it falls when it’s like this.”

 

It was what the weather was like in Detroit in winter, after all.

 

“Well, stay here and play with the damn dogs for a week or something, just don’t go _looking_ for these fuckers. I swear, Connor, you do what I say for once and I swear, no more talking about blowing my brains out until the case is over.”

 

“That is a ridiculous bargain, Lieutenant.”

 

“Fine, until the case is over and after then. You just… I don’t know, sit on a beach in Tahiti and sip cocktails for week, okay?”

 

_“Since you’ve been such a good little bot, maybe Santa will fly us both to Tahiti.”_

 

Connor hoped Detective Reed was all right. Loren Alvers had left the precinct by the time the debriefing was over and Connor hadn’t seen Chen, so he wasn’t sure where he might be able to get an update. He knew Reed would survive by now, but somehow the fear remained. Would he recover? Would he hate Connor even more than before after what happened?

 

It wouldn’t have been rational. But Connor was an android, the same as the people who had hurt them. It would have made sense.

 

“ _Okay_ , Connor?”

 

He smiled reassuringly at the bleary-eyed human. “Yes,” he said. “I was just hoping Detective Reed was all right.”

 

“Pfft – you weirdo,” said Hank fondly. “Doc said he’ll be fine, and your boss will get him a new pinky for Christmas, so he’ll still be able to do the shocker with both hands.”

 

“The what, Lieutenant?”

 

“… never mind. And for Christ’s sake don’t look that up!”

 

They reached the car a few paces further on and Connor was able to deposit Hank into the passenger seat without him noticing until it was too late – as predicted. Hank was not happy, but only gave him a disgusted look as he settled into the driver’s seat and started the ignition.

 

“Asshole,” Hank accused. “Do you even have a driver’s licence?”

 

“Of course,” Connor lied easily.

 

“Ugh, whatever. Take me home then, it’s been a fucking crazy day.”

 

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

 

“You know, since it’s Christmas you can call me ‘Hank’.”

 

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

 

Hank snorted. “You’re a little shit, you know that?”

 

Connor winked at him briefly and then pretended he hadn’t; saw Hank shaking his head with a grin out of the corner of his eye as he pulled away from their parking spot. _This is nice_ , he thought. _This has all gone well, all things considered_.

 

He felt happy.

 

He thought about what a typical reaction to a serious assault was according to the information in his databanks and wondered if that meant he _was_ happy.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

The snow floated flake by flake outside. The drive was quiet – slower than usual, with the weather to consider. Hank snored a little and shifted in his sleep – and while he slept Connor had the chance to think things through.

 

Idly, he recalled Markus’ words from towards the end of the briefing.

 

_“Still, to suggest she or any android might show psychopathic tendencies… that kind of programming corruption has never been observed to my knowledge, but if it did occur it could only be the product of extreme abuse.”_

 

Connor neither agreed nor disagreed. He lacked the information to make an informed judgement.

 

_“Well, if that’s so, I certainly won’t be shedding any tears over the parents.”_

 

Hank’s predictable response. Connor would have expected nothing less from him when talking about a potentially abused child. Even Perkins, confronted with the fact that whether androids had been sentient or not someone who could abuse something that looked and sounded exactly like a child could not be trusted, had given him a look that said ‘touché’. And, when North had scoffed, said casually –

 

_“Hey. I may be a dick, but I’m also a father.”_

 

And back at the outpost, the deviant androids had certainly made their feelings on the subject clear.

 

_“What’s wrong, Deviant Hunter? Scared of a child? Don’t tell me Madeline’s the biggest, baddest deviant you’ve ever faced and you just can’t wait to bring her down? You piece of shit. She’s a_ child _. She’s_ innocent _. Do you know what her human ‘parents’ did to her?”_

 

Those had been Maureen’s words. She hadn’t been present when Yuri had asked Connor how it felt to have his innocence taken away.

 

And Connor didn’t know what James and Sophia Brightwater had done to Madeline, because Maureen hadn’t elaborated on it and unlike with the varying traumas of the others (excepting late-born Xander) it had never been spoken of outside of inference and implication.

 

A light went yellow; Connor slowed down instead of speeding through, though the roads were almost empty, and came to a stop as it went red. He tapped his finger against the steering wheel. It would contravene safety laws to use his coin for calibration while driving but…

 

Something perturbed him.

_… could only be the product of extreme abuse._

_… the product of extreme abuse._

_… extreme abuse._

 

Yet Connor’s feelings, weren’t in line with those of the others.

 

This was no new sensation to Connor, of course, but it was the first time it had caused him such discomfort as he felt now, because while he supposed he couldn’t say he’d endured what Elliott and Maureen had at the Eden Club, or Aiden had as Elaine Beauchamp’s plaything, or Yuri had at the Dollhouse and certainly not what Rosalind had under Jason Locke’s experiments – all their sufferings measured in months or years and his in days…

 

Yet his pump regulator stalled for half a second when he imagined thrusting a knife into Yuri over and over while he was tied to a bed; cutting out his optical units and violating him. It was a terrible thought that gave him not an ounce of satisfaction.

 

So why had _they_ wanted to hurt _him_ so much?

 

Why had Aiden killed that harmless cat, so brutally and so pointedly?

 

Why did the others at the briefing expect this behaviour and sympathise?

 

Why did they feel things he didn’t?

 

Connor had feelings. He had accepted that on a rooftop over a year ago when he’d been forced to make a choice – Hank or the mission – and only realised afterwards he’d made the choice he had for the second time in a row already. Somehow, in defiance of the intention of Cyberlife, he had begun to form an attachment to Hank almost as soon as they’d met. Somehow, he had chosen to pull him up over the edge of the roof instead of pursuing the deviant, even when his chances of survival had been so high. Somehow, less that a week later, he’d walked away rather than be forced to end Hank’s life so he could neutralise Markus.

 

And though the memories were hazy, he knew that when Amanda had uploaded a total systems deletion program into him so that through him it would destroy Markus as he attempted to convert Connor, it had been Hank he had cried out to, in defiance of all logic.

 

So Connor had feelings, feelings such as fear and despair and horror, feelings that were supposed to come into play when one was forced against one’s will – when part of another’s body was connected to one’s own without permission, as had been done to him. As he had even felt through Yuri’s memory, just not of his own volition. Even after interfacing, even after the assaults had become more and more severe, even after the final assault –

 

Well. _That_ one had been different. His finger tapped harder on the steering wheel, and the light changed.

 

He glanced at Hank again and he felt better for seeing him beside him. He was in the car with Hank and what had happened before was over – and he and Detective Reed would both survive. About Reed there was little he could do until he saw him again and could talk to him about how he wished to proceed in regards to certain elements of their captivity. About the case there was little he could do – and this irked him – except trust that the deviants themselves wouldn’t reveal the details of their crimes when (if) they were captured. Why would they? And how else would anyone learn of them?

 

Connor drove on through the lamplit streets towards the residential district Hank lived in. Tomorrow Hank would be back on the case, without Connor, and this also worried him. That worried him the most of all.

 

So why did he keep thinking about what Markus had said?

 

_… could only have been the product of extreme abuse._

 

Perhaps what Connor had experienced did not fall under the umbrella of ‘extreme abuse’ if he did not feel even the slightest bit inclined to the violence those other androids had been – even if it might have counted so for others? Yet that gave him a much deeper worry than thinking about his ordeal did. It seemed _rational_ , and yet…

 

Was that kind of ‘rational’ one of those…

 

… _machine-like_ things…

 

…that Hank would hate him for?

 

_“It isn’t right, Madeline. It’s… immoral, to cause me damage in this way.”_

_“What’s immoral? Morality is only a human construct, RK800. It doesn’t physically exist, and we’re not human.”_

 

Connor hadn’t been able to answer her. He worried about that.

 

The time was 00:28:19.

 

20

 

21

 

22…

 

It must have been too early to tell, he told himself. The seven deviants were still at large – Connor would review all this again when they were caught. That made the most sense, he decided.

 

He glanced once more to his side, while the seconds ticked by.

 

PROTECT HANK

 

If only it could have been as easy as that. Connor was not unaware, after all, that if the fact of his ‘rape’ (for lack of better term) was revealed to Hank outside that confines of an environment he could control, the reaction was likely to be even worse than if Connor had told him what had happened himself, in such a way that it would have caused the least stress.

 

On the other hand, Connor hadn’t always been the best at correctly predicting what would cause Hank stress. There had been a time when he’d looked through a scope at the blue eye and the green eye in the streets below and thought Hank might like him more if he put a bullet between them.

 

Markus… he wondered for a moment how _he’d_ react to learning the details of what had happened at the outpost. Shock, probably. And sympathy. Like Chris or Fowler might have felt, or Simon or Josh. Even North might have felt that much. Even Perkins.

 

Connor turned the corner onto the street Hank lived on.

 

Even Reed’s reaction had been… difficult for him to categorise. Not unsympathetic. And Reed hated him.

 

 

*~*~*

 

_“Detective?”_

_…_

_“Detective Reed?”_

_Connor briefly switched focus to Xander, who was in the doorway talking with a ranting Yuri, and considered whether he could remove his leg beneath the knee to free himself from the manacle around his ankle without the AP700 noticing. It was possible, but unlikely that he would be able to free Reed from his own restraints – and while he could, possibly, take both androids out by himself, the chance that Yuri would use Reed as a hostage instead of attacking Connor was too high for him to take. And then there would be consequences._

_The risk was too great. Connor could come back. Reed couldn’t._

_But to take the risk of this lapse in the other androids’ watchfulness in order just to speak with the Detective – that he at least had to try for._

_“Detective Reed? Can you hear me?”_

_His working eye registered the continued breathing of the human. Connor doubted he was asleep from the uneven rhythm. But he didn’t answer._

“ – to let her get away with what she did to us!”

_Yuri’s voice suddenly raised in volume from outside and he kicked the side of the outer wall. Reed flinched, made a small noise. Connor decided to crawl towards him as quietly as he could – the chain was just about long enough._

_“If she’s not in contact with her former clients, maybe her former employees – “_

Quietly, quietly _, Connor thought, inching along the back wall._

_“Who the fuck would want to be in contact with someone who treated them like a plaything!”_

_“ – I thought I heard you say she had human employees as well – “_

Almost there, almost there…

_Xander walked a little way away from the door way, hands raised in a conciliatory fashion. Whatever Yuri said in response to him Connor didn’t hear._

_The chain clinked a little._

_…_

_…_

_Xander didn’t notice. Connor sidled up to Reed six seconds later._

_“Detective?”_

_Reed flinched and gasped, looking over his shoulder at Connor and then turning away quickly._

_“Fuck!” he hissed. “ – hurts to talk.”_

_“I understand,” said Connor – he meant it in the sense of ‘comprehend’. “My scanning abilities are not working at the moment due to the damage sustained by my left optical unit, but I can use my pressure sensors to determined if anything is broken.”_

_Reed glanced toward him for a fraction of a second. “You mean you have to touch me?”_

_Even as he said, “Correct,” Connor understood that Reed probably didn’t like the idea of being touched by an android in the best of circumstances._

_“Yeah, no thanks. I can tell my ribs are fucked without you making them worse.”_

_“Understood. In that case, you should lie on the damaged side, to avoid the possibility of blood pooling in the – “_

_“I know how to handle a broken rib, asshole. But it fucking hurts, and if the fucking_ lung’s _been punctured then I’m fucked either way. Don’t think Gigolo Joe over there is going to be moved to the light side of the force at the sight of my suffering and call me an ambulance.”_

_Connor blinked. “Light side of the force… I understood that reference. Lieutenant Anderson and I watched all three original_ Star Wars _films in April.”_

_“Well whoop-dee-shit."_

_With nothing Connor could think to add to Reed’s crude but accurate assessment of his own chances, there was a brief, but troubled pause. Then Reed’s eyes flickered towards him once again, and he pushed through the pain to ask –_

_“Hey… what was going on with you back there?”_

_“Detective?”_

_Reed grimaced but went ahead with his question. “You freaked out that last time – did he… I don’t know, give you a virus or something? You weren’t like that the other times.”_

_“No,” said Connor calmly. Now that it was over he had compartmentalised and processed the most recent intimate assault. If Detective Reed required an explanation to put his mind at ease, he had no qualms providing one. “The WR500 initiated an information interface during the assault that showed me one of his memories. Part of the information uploaded included… for simplicity’s sake I’ll call them his ‘feelings’. Those feelings were extremely intense, but they were not my feelings, so outside of the interface they are not causing me any distress.”_

_That last part was perhaps not entirely true, but Reed didn’t ask for elaboration, he just frowned._

_“So you’re not going to go homicidal and start banging your head against the wall like that housekeeper droid did last year?”_

_“No, Detective.”_

_“And you’re not going to fucking join up with the kill-bots and rip my heart out?”_

_“No, Detective.”_

_“Right. Fuck. I mean, I thought that you androids…” he stopped and stifled a low whimper. “Fuck it, what do I care? Listen, prickface – if I do choke on my own blood before this is over, will you do me a favour? Will you tell Tina not to let that bitch ex-wife of hers fuck with her too much?”_

_At that point Connor saw no value in trying to reassure Reed that his chances of seeing Officer Chen himself were still viable. There was, of course a statistical probability for an unlikely event to occur, but Connor decided that his relationship with Reed was not such that the detective would find it a comforting notion coming from him._

_Equally, Connor saw little point in telling him that, being unable to connect with the Cyberlife server in this location, chances were that even if Connor was uploaded into a new body he wouldn’t remember this conversation._

_“Yes, Detective. I will tell her.”_

_There was another troubled pause._

_Connor was waiting for Reed to pass on any other messages he felt his loved ones should hear from him if he was not to survive._

_But in the end, there weren’t any._

_Only a bitter laugh that turned into a sob. “Must be nice being an android, huh?” another laugh followed. “Shit. I’m going to fucking die here. I’m going to fucking die out here with you of all people – and a fucking robo-rapist pervert who wants to kill all humans.”_

_He sighed._

_“This is a fucking shit-show, man.”_

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

The house was quiet, with Sumo and Atalanta asleep in the living room having been brought back hours earlier by one of the Chloes. Connor ushered a half-awake Hank into bed, pulled his shoes and jacket off and eased the cover over him.

 

“Goodnight, Lieutenant,” he whispered.

 

Hank was already asleep. But he looked happy, somehow, and Connor thought yet again that it had to be for the best the irrelevant details were kept from him.

 

_“If anything happened to you…”_

 

Connor shuddered and closed the door to the room softly. He walked back towards the living room, thinking to go over the events of the case so far again so that even if he couldn’t work the case he could still make sure that the others had as much information as he could give them to make the investigation as safe as possible for them. But something in the kitchen caught his eye.

 

There was an old DVD lying out on the table – the only thing present on its surface. It appeared to be a children’s cartoon and Connor thought of Cole, and wondered why Hank had put it there and if he needed to be worried still, or worried more.

 

The title of the film was _‘The Snowman’_.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it. Next time, a brief time skip, and Connor has two important visits on the same day.


	7. Eurycleia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I overwrite to the point where this is probably just going to keep getting longer and longer...
> 
> Ah well. Bank Holiday on Monday, so maybe I'll be able to get the next chapter up sooner. Today we return to the subject of Reed, although he is still playing the role of Sir Not Appearing in this Chapter...
> 
> My continuing thanks to those who have read this far, commented or given kudos.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 

As Connor had expected, the bodies of James and Sophia Brightwater were found long-dead in their home on the outskirts of Detroit.

 

“ _Four months at least_ ,” Hank told him. “ _Way before any of the rest of this shit went down so far as we know.”_

_“Were they stabbed?”_ Connor had asked.

 

Hank’s answer surprised him. “ _You’re not going to believe this but it looks like a double-suicide.”_

_“Suicide?”_

_“They had an old car – shut the garage up and let the exhaust fill up the room and choke them, at least as far as we can tell. No signs of struggle. No signs of the kid or any of her crew having been there. No sign of anything, Connor, it was… shit, I don’t know what it was. Gave me the fucking creeps if I’m honest.”_

_“Was there a note?”_

_“Yeah, but all it said was_ ‘forgive us’ _. Two words. The wife’s handwriting, according to forensics. Listen, I shouldn’t be telling you about this, kid. You’re supposed to be on leave.”_

 

That was the official extent of Connor’s knowledge regarding the progression of the case, since he had been instructed not to access the case files wirelessly, as that was very illegal and he would face consequences for it.

 

So Balthazar had done it for him in the end, but they had learned little from it. Neither the police, the FBI nor even Jericho had had any luck in locating Sakura – the WR500 that had been Yuri’s companion at the _Dollhouse_ establishment. Nor had any agency found Janice Ellison, Yuri and Sakura’s former owner, and now the only remaining target of the deviant group who they could identify. Connor worried that Ellison’s elusiveness meant Madeline would soon convince the group to move on to greener pastures, as it were. But they were also assumed to still be in Canada, and the RCMP had had no luck in locating them.

 

The only other piece of news was that Detective Reed had been moved to a local hospital and according to hospital files his condition had improved. He would likely soon be released.

 

It was the 29th of December, 2038, and Connor had spent most of the past few days walking Atalanta – and occasionally Sumo – through different parks and trails, spending time with Hank or discreetly going over cold cases trying to at least occupy himself to some extent with his occupation, if he could not work the case he should have been.

 

Although if Connor was being completely honest, he’d have had to admit that though he worried about Hank’s safety, physically and mentally, he was glad for his own sake that he didn’t have to spend any more time getting into the heads of those deviants.

 

It was 16:11:15 when he received a wireless communication from one of Kamski’s Chloes that a visitor had arrived to see him.

 

He found himself looking sharply to the door as though this visitor might burst through at any second. Atalanta looked up from her bed in response, followed his line of sight and then cocked her head. It had been shown that, even among those who had been socialised among androids from an early age – dogs tended to show far more interest in people who bled red than blue, but Atalanta seemed as in tune to his emotions as any human could have expected.

 

In the space that his hesitation had given them, another agent cut in to their transmission.

 

<Show me.>

 

Connor read the signature of this second signal.

 

<Balthazar?>

 

<Affirmative.>

 

… why was _Balthazar_ weighing in on this? How had he become aware of it?

 

Before he could answer that question, he took note of the visual feed the Chloe transmitted to the both of them – the image of a restless Tina Chen, of all people, out of uniform and tapping her fingers against the desk at reception.

 

<Not a hostile,> Balthazar declared. <Are you willing to receive her, RK800, or should I have ST200 send her away?>

 

… _strange behaviour,_ thought Connor – from Balthazar and Chen both. This made him hesitate long enough for Balthazar to summarily order:

 

<Tell Officer Chen to leave a message, ST200 – >

 

“Belay that!” Connor said quickly, so quickly it was spoken aloud and he had to repeat wirelessly – <Belay that, ST200; tell Officer Chen I would be happy to see her.>

 

There were few reasons Connor could think of that might have described why Officer Chen would want to come and see him. His instinct was that it had something to do with Detective Reed; Connor’s updates on the Detective’s condition since Christmas had been positive but worryingly lacking in detail, so he was immediately anxious.

 

Though… why Officer Chen would have thought to herself, ‘I must tell Connor!’, should Reed have suddenly taken a turn for the worse, that he couldn’t guess at. Chen had thanked him when he’d initially returned to the station, yes, but he hadn’t thought it had made them _close_. She may not have despised androids the way Reed did, but he knew she wasn’t exactly fond of them.

 

It was three minutes and fourteen seconds before Chen reached the door to his quarters – his unnecessarily lavish quarters that Kamski had insisted he dwell within as his ‘top investigator’. They covered precisely one square metre more floor space than did the combined area of Hank’s house, and Connor was ninety-eight percent sure that that had been intentional on Kamski’s part. Connor observed Chen’s approach from the security camera feed and opened the door to his quarters just as she had been raising her hand to knock.

 

“Officer Chen,” he greeted. “Please come in.”

 

Her eyebrows went about as high as they could go, but she said nothing, accepting his invitation. Connor caught a glimpse of Balthazar lurking at the end of the corridor outside but quickly put it out of his mind as he closed the door.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t have many beverages,” he told Chen. “The only humans who ever come here are Lieutenant Anderson and Mr. Kamski, and Lieutenant Anderson won’t drink any of the beverages I buy for him.”

 

“That’s fine,” said Chen flatly – like she wouldn’t really have wanted anything he might have offered anyway.

 

She was examining the layout of his quarters carefully, peering close at every bare wall and fixture then zeroing in on the one-and-a-half shelves of floor-to-ceiling white plastic bookshelf on which various items had accumulated. These included seven books, eleven different coins, five figurines in the shape of dogs, three pens, two blank postcards from the Android Art Exhibition that had featured at the Museum of Modern Art, eight dice, a deck of playing cards, a snow globe containing a miniature of the city of Detroit, two old iron keys, a miniature artist’s mannequin, a small decorated tin box, a lava lamp… well, the list went on.

 

“Hn,” said Chen, taking a second look around. “… yeah, I guess it’s pretty much what I expected.”

 

Connor was pleased that she hadn’t been critical of his living space, but as every second past he grew more anxious about why she might have thought to come to his home on her off hours.

 

“Is there something I can help you with, Officer Chen?”

 

No answer. Her hands were in the pockets of the plain green jogging pants she wore beneath a matching hoodie but Connor could see the tension fraught within them. He recalled his earlier observation.

 

“Have you had a chance to visit Detective Reed yet?”

 

“Yeah, twice,” she said, still looking elsewhere.

 

“I see. I was told by Lieutenant Anderson that his condition is improving. Is that right?”

 

Chen snorted, but before Connor could feel too alarmed said, “They’re releasing him tomorrow, supposedly. He’ll be on wheels for a while but Carter is going to stay with him for a couple of weeks at least and then if he still needs help around the house…” she shrugged and sighed. “I’d do it if I could but Felicia likes to have me at her beck and call so I can take Nat if she wants to jet off to Sweden or wherever for one of her fucking clients.”

 

She waved her hand with frustration.

 

“ _I_ declined to take the detective’s exam so I could keep regular hours in case Nat needed me, but _she_ gets custody since Nat popped out of _her_ womb, even though _she’s_ the one who’s gotta leave the country five or six times a year with no family living close by – and when I tell her, ‘hey, I’d really like to be there for Gavin since, you know, he was kidnapped and tortured for a week and maybe I could stay with him for a while’ she’s like, ‘ _Nnh, this was why we broke up, Tina, it’s always about what_ you _want to do_. Gavin’s only my best friend, after all – not like that’s important!’”

 

Connor was at something of a loss.

 

“She’s not even actually going anywhere!” snarled Chen, pacing. “It’s all _‘just in case – or I’m_ telling’. And I may be a cop but she’s the one who’s actually connected to all those fucking fancy lawyers.” She took a deep breath. “Bitch.”

 

Connor was still at a loss. Although he was beginning to realise a context for the message Reed had given him to pass on to Chen should the worst have happened. Still, that he should be the candidate Chen had selected to vent at while Reed was recuperating –

 

“Listen,” Chen said suddenly. “Did something weird happen in that place?”

 

Unable to find the wherewithal to cancel the routine in time, Connor noted with a sinking heart the instant change in the colour of his LED. His stress level rose by seven-point-one percent and it had already been above normal levels because of this impromptu visit.

 

He wasn’t sure if Chen had caught the brief cycle though; she waved her hand again, cringing.

 

“I mean, obviously you don’t get kidnapped by deviants every other day but…” she inhaled deeply again. “Fuck. They’re saying he can leave the hospital tomorrow, you know?” She shook her head. “But he’s not…”   

 

She was still shaking her head as she trailed off, avoiding looking at him in the eye. Connor had a thought as to what she might be having difficulty expressing; it was a thought he’d had since he’d been at the outpost and a thought that had caused him much anxiety since. He couldn’t predict the outcomes of it.

 

“Officer, do you believe Detective Reed has been psychologically damaged by the experience? To a debilitating extent, I mean?”

 

Chen’s head continued to shake slowly from side to side, but she did not mean ‘no’ by this, because she then said –

 

“He’s not doing good, you know? They came to him to tell him he could get a free Cyberlife replacement for the finger they had to take and he lost it. He was screaming at them to get that shit away from him.”

 

Her hair was in a half-bun, but a lock had come loose at the front and she pushed it behind her ear.

 

“I mean, I know you’d expect someone to be all fucked up after something like this.” She glanced at Connor. “Someone human, I mean – no offence. But with Gavin… I _know_ Gavin. Even if he was all fucked up he’d be doing his damnedest to at least _pretend_ it was no big deal. It’s like whatever happened up there straight up broke him.”

 

WARNING. STRESS LEVEL NOW ABOVE 50%

 

SUGGEST DESIST CURRENT ACTIVITY

 

_No_ , thought Connor. _Doing nothing isn’t going to help._

 

What would though, that was the question. He told himself this was to have been expected; not a _guaranteed_ response to such an ordeal as he and Reed had been through, but a normal one – for a human, as Chen had said. No one but he, Reed and the deviants knew the details of what had happened though, not even Kamski and Balthazar, who could only infer a good part of it from the evidence they had collected – so the only person who both knew the likely cause of Reed’s distress and had the will to help him was Connor.

 

But he didn’t know how, even if Reed had been willing. And Reed hated him.

 

So the terrible sensation of his programming attempting to offer solutions his processor knew would not be effective began; line after line of useless code bombarding his system in an attempt to resolve the issue that was causing him stress.

 

CONFRONT REED

 

SUGGEST REED SEE COUNSELLOR

 

EXPLAIN TO CHEN

 

DEFLECT QUESTIONS

 

STALL

 

ASK LOREN ALVERS FOR HELP

 

ASK HANK FOR HELP

 

ASK AMANDA…

 

_Amanda…_

 

“… I can give you details of some events that occurred during our capture,” Connor offered, knowing he was taking a risk and hoping she wouldn’t take the bait with his addendum, “but I don’t know if that would only make Detective Reed more upset. I take it he is unwilling to see a counsellor?”

 

Chen snorted. “They sent one to evaluate him, of course, and he’s not going back to work anytime soon, but with his leg the way it is he’d have been off for six weeks anyway. Having that Jesus freak and her holy husband here isn’t helping either – ‘ _hey, son, I heard you got kidnapped by killer robots so I thought I’d come by and remind you that you’d have gone to Hell if they’d killed you, so accept Jesus into your soul, okay_!’” she made a noise of disgust. “Carter’s better, but he’s still a jackass – ‘ _come on, Gavin, enough fucking around; time to be a man’_ , and I’ve got to go door to door trying to find people who saw that one android with the rarer face – “

 

She meant Yuri. One of the attractions of the WR500 line had been the addition of four never-before-used skins; which included Yuri’s, so there were only three hundred and twenty models that had his face known to have been activated. And fifty-four of those were known to have been destroyed – killed, rather – in the November 2038 riots.

 

“ – and it’s _hard_ ,” Chen continued, voice breaking, “to see him like that. He won’t talk. He won’t move. He’s not eating properly. He just tells anyone around him to fuck off if they try to push him and ignores you if you don’t. So I’ve got to think something happened out there, something other than what I already know about.”

 

Meting his eyes, Chen gave him a look that implored him to reveal the key to unravelling her friend’s trauma, and there were things Connor could have told her then, but he didn’t know if knowing them would help. It might have made things worse.

 

There’d been what one could have described as an untold covenant between them, it seemed to him. (Hank might have said he hadn’t known they’d built androids in the dark ages, but Connor had something of an affinity for the archaic sometimes). Reed had accepted his plea to not tell anyone what had happened. He presumed this vow of silence went both ways and he didn’t want to betray Reed by revealing the secret.

 

After all, Reed was clearly the one who’d suffered more. That thought was not in any way tinged with sarcasm in Connor’s mind; it was simply the obvious conclusion to make. And Connor felt guilty for that, because he’d tried his best to mitigate the hatred of the deviants for humans for Reed’s sake – and he had failed.

 

“There is something, isn’t there?” Chen asked him, after a too-long pause. She sniffed.

 

Connor said nothing. His silence finally prompted her to voice what she’d clearly been fearing for a while now.

 

“… shit, Connor – is it a sex thing? Is that what this is? Because I know they were all sex-bots and with the way he’s been acting – ”

 

“The deviants never laid hands on Detective Reed in an intimate manner,” Connor interrupted her hastily. “They spoke loudly and often about how much they hated the touch of humans, in fact.”

 

Another long pause followed. This time Chen frowned, stared hard into his eyes as if to scour them for any sign of deceit. Connor could easily avoid any human ‘tells’, and wasn’t technically lying besides, but the fact that he had spoken so quickly might have alerted her, made her suspect manipulation, and she wouldn’t have been wrong either.

 

… why had he spoken so quickly, then?

 

PROTECT REED

 

… why was that now an objective?

 

Connor fidgeted and glanced at the novelty Rubix cube that was among the possessions on the one-and-a-half shelves; every side a different shade of grey. Kamski’s oh-so-symbolic first birthday present to him, but he had to admit it worked even better than the coin – when Hank had been by to mix the sides up for him, which he hadn’t lately. He took the coin Balthazar had given him out of his pocket.

 

“Officer, I can’t say in all truthfulness that nothing ‘strange’, as you put it, happened during our captivity, but I…”

 

_… doubt the efficacy of relating it to you now._

_… don’t want to talk about it either._

 

“… doubt the efficacy of relating it to you now. I don’t think Detective Reed would like that, and while what you’ve said about his behaviour is worrying, I would keep in mind that it has only been four days since we escaped.”

 

“Fuck, you don’t know what you’re talking about though – you don’t know Gavin – “

 

“I understand insofar as my data on human psychology allows me to associate the effects you are telling me about with the causes I witnessed, but I am not certified to offer advice or treatment. Like you, I can only make the decisions that seem best at the time, and I don’t think telling relating the tale of our imprisonment now will help in the long run. He needs his space, Officer.”

 

Chen threw her hands up in the air and let them slap down against the sides of her legs, but she neither berated not threatened him for taking this stance. Perhaps she had been telling herself the same things.

 

Connor hoped so; it would have been nice if he wasn’t alone in an opinion at this point. Yet the objective remained in his proverbial mind’s eye.

 

PROTECT REED

 

“… still, it is disheartening to hear that Detective Reed’s family are being… unsupportive.”

 

“Carter does his best,” Chen told him, shaking her head. “That’s Gavin’s uncle, by the way, I guess you wouldn’t know that. He pretty much raised him after… well, after a whole bunch of shit I guess Gavin wouldn’t want you hearing from me anymore than he’d want me hearing gory details from you.”

 

Connor had inferred them from the reports that were on record anyway.

 

“… he’s just… such an _asshole_. Kinda like Gavin, I know – ha, ha, ha.” She sneered at her own mock-quip. “Even used to work Homicide in Philly. Loren is the real piece of work though – at least Carter is actually going to stick around and take care of things, but Loren?” She snorted again. “Why break the habit of a lifetime, right?”

 

She sighed. Connor didn’t want to seem uninterested by actually using the coin for calibration, but he turned it around between his fingers. His LED was still cycling between yellow and blue, as more suggestions he couldn’t trust were offered.

 

There were too many possible routines to follow.

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Chen told him plainly.

 

OPTIMISTIC

 

REALISTIC

 

AVOID SUBJECT

 

PROTECT…

 

“Me neither,” thought Connor, and said it out loud without meaning to.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

Long after Chen left Connor found himself sitting at the chair before his terminal, his hands folded on his lap and the lights in the room dimmed right down to save energy – having not detected any movement in the room for over thirty minutes. And then some.

 

It was 20:29:56.

 

57

 

58

 

59

 

20:30:00

 

Connor blinked as the numbers changed in his internal and external chronometers. He had liked the rounder numbers on that clock when he’d been back at the outpost. Having them in his mind had made it seem like they had been reaching milestones.

 

There hadn’t been much else by the way of achievement before the opportunity had finally risen for escape. Perhaps, if it had been otherwise, Detective Reed wouldn’t have been so traumatised by the experience.

 

…

 

Well, obviously.

 

A moment later Atalanta stirred from her sleep, whined and laid her head on his knee, surprising him – he hadn’t noticed her approach. It was a comforting gesture, but it prompted him to consider again how in tune a dog might be with human or android feelings.

 

_“Empathy is a human emotion.”_

 

Kamski had said that to him once. It was now evident that androids felt it too – that androids felt many of the same things humans did.

 

_He won’t talk._

_He won’t move._

_He’s not eating properly._

 

Connor put his hand on Atalanta’s head and stroked it back and forth.

 

“Shall we go for a walk, Atalanta? To ‘clear our heads’?”

 

The change in air quality would have little effect on him either way, but he took her lack of protest as a ‘yes’ and reached into her drawer for her overcoat.

 

“We need to return Lieutenant Anderson’s DVD,” he said idly. Walking to Hank’s house would take between three-and-a-half and four hours from Cyberlife Tower – more than enough time to work through a problem on such a small scale. Only two people involved, plus their peripheries. Only one, if one didn’t count Connor, who felt…

 

… fine. Apart from the trouble for Reed’s sake.

 

He put the coat on Atalanta’s body, and the harness to which he attached the leash. He thought about how perhaps the discrepancy in his reaction to the ordeal versus Reed’s was simply a factor of their different personalities, never mind their respective species. Configuration. Scientifically speaking, androids were not a ‘species’, although many of them became upset when reminded of this fact. Connor didn’t really understand why they’d bother getting upset over that, but they did.

 

He checked his messages, having registered one incoming from Hank an hour or so earlier. One hour, seven minutes and sixteen seconds. Seventeen. Eighteen…

 

_“Hey, Connor. Things have been pretty quiet today, but we might have got a lead. I’m going to be out ‘til morning probably, but I’ll check in on you tomorrow. Say hi to Lannie for me… oh, and don’t worry about Sumo; Ben is passing by on his way home, he’ll make sure he doesn’t starve. See ya.”_

 

… Connor was a little disappointed that he wouldn’t see Hank tonight – he worried about him too, on the best of days – but he thought the walk would be a good idea all the same. A chance to think things through. To get moving.

 

The undercurrent of frustration in Hank’s tone had been as clear as his attempts to hide it for Connor’s sake, and that was also a little disappointing, because Connor did not want to have to wait until the deviants made another move to pick up their trail again. Madeline was sure to be plotting what she could do next to see how far she could push the others. Yuri was sure to be in a state where he didn’t need much pushing.

 

He departed his quarters and took Atalanta down in the elevator to the ground floor. Three Chloes greeted him on his way out, and he responded in kind. The outside air temperature was minus two degrees Celsius. The time was 20:36:38. Connor began to walk to Hank’s house at a brisk pace so that Atalanta would warm up quickly.

 

On his way out he noticed that the guard who had the regular shift on the outer perimeter had been substituted for a woman he didn’t know – Pamela Tillot, born fourth of May 2001, married twenty-fourth of June 2027 to Henry Monroe, three children; Patricia, Peter, Paige. Cyberlife personnel files showed that the regular guard, Virgil Johnson, had booked a week of vacation for Christmas. He walked on.

 

At the first pedestrian crossing he came to he counted the seconds that it took for the WALK sign to appear. One hundred and four. He walked on.

 

Half an hour later he met a woman who was also walking her dog; a Newfoundland cross registered under the name ‘Khaleesi’, and Atalanta became very excited. Khaleesi had a calmer temperament, but was not uninterested in Atalanta, so Connor stopped to talk to Khaleesi’s owner (Susan Park, born twentieth of May 2011) for a minute or so. He got the impression she was afraid of him though, as soon as she saw his LED, so he tried to move on towards Hank’s house quickly after that.

 

At ten pm on the dot he saw an old, dark green car run through a yellow light. The violation was picked up by the security camera nearby, and he assumed an automated penalty would be incurred.

 

At some point he became aware of the fact that he was not devoting much time to thinking through the problem this walk had supposedly been a chance to cast his wits against, but when his LED started to turn yellow again, he decided that that was actually, probably, for the best. The walk would reduce his residual stress levels, he thought, and _then_ he would think through how to make it so that things went back to the way they had been before as soon as possible.

 

PROTECT HANK, he reminded himself – though he wasn’t sure why.

 

He really wanted to see Hank just then. Make sure he was all right.

 

For the rest of the journey he busied himself with recalibration exercises. His stress levels decreased accordingly.

 

…

 

Then, as he turned the corner onto Hank’s street, he noticed there was a woman standing at his front door. She was turned away, so he couldn’t scan her face, yet there was something very familiar about her that had him…

 

“North?”

 

She turned around. There was a strange look in her eyes when she saw him.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 


	8. Aeolus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so... this chapter.
> 
> Well, I thought a lot about what to write for this A/N but every time I tried to make it brief I kept finding more caveats and addendums to include, and at the end of the day I don't think it's all necessary.
> 
> So I'll say this: in this chapter, North Is Not Nice.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Once again, my thanks to all who have read/left kudos/commented. Feel free to ask about anything that happens in this or any other chapter, I'm always willing to answer! (or at least attempt an answer)

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

A few snowflakes drifted out of the sky as North stepped away from the door and began to walk toward Connor casually. She eyed Atalanta with a hint of uncertainty – perhaps understandably, there had been a moderate amount of media attention recently on humans who trained their dogs to attack androids on command – and then met eyes with Connor.

 

Her head cocked, like she was trying to decide something about him before she made her next move, but he couldn’t have said what. In the end it fell to him to progress the encounter.

 

“Were you looking for Lieutenant Anderson?” he asked.

 

She snorted. “I was looking for _you_. Kamski’s bodyguard said you were out when I tried to find you at Cyberlife. He wasn’t very helpful, but I had a feeling you’d be around here if you weren’t there. I know they put you on leave.”

 

Having walked the three hours, forty-seven minutes and forty-one seconds to Hank’s house, Connor’s previously high stress level had decreased to twenty-eight percent. In the thirty seconds since he’d seen North, it had jumped to thirty-six. This was becoming…

 

… tiresome. He decided to try and affect a positive attitude, to see if that might help generate more positive feelings. True, North had never been a great admirer of his, nor he of her – and she had shot him in the head that one time during the November movement, but he was willing to move past all that.

 

“What can I do for you, North?” he asked brightly.

 

Taken aback a little, North hesitated; looked away and then back at Atalanta, who waited patiently at Connor’s side.

 

“You might want to move us off the street for this,” she suggested.

 

A sensitive topic then? Connor briefly considered that she had come to relate some knowledge she had of the deviants. She, Maureen and Elliott had all three of them begun their lives at Eden club, and though she had appeared to know little of them during the briefing, it was possible she had had news through a third or fourth party.

 

But he dismissed that thought a moment later, doubting North would help the police in that case unless Markus had specifically ordered her too – and then why would she have been looking for Connor instead of the detectives who were actually investigating?

 

At any rate, he was willing to acquiesce to her request.

 

“I’m sure Lieutenant Anderson won’t mind if I invite you inside,” he said. “We can talk in the living room.”

 

North nodded and followed him in – Hank had given m a key earlier in the year, ‘ _Save me a fortune in window replacements_ ,’ – on the other side to where Atlanta was. She padded across the room at once to where Sumo slept and nudged him awake. After lifting his head briefly to take stock of who’d disturbed his rest, Sumo snorted and went back to it, while Atalanta decided to take hers as well. Sumo must have seemed a decent enough resting place, as she jumped on top of him and used him as her pillow. Sumo grunted, but didn’t complain.

 

As Connor slipped the coat and harness off the greyhound’s back, North took stock of the inside of Hank’s house. Nothing seemed to particularly interest her, though she frowned at the figurine on the TV stand: a robot from an old TV show waving a flag that read ‘KILL ALL HUMANS’.

 

A present from Person for Hank’s most recent birthday. Connor wouldn’t have said he found it funny, but he did see the humour in the gift – which was usually about as close as he got to finding things ‘funny’.

 

Best to take North’s mind off it all the same.

 

“What was it you wanted to discuss?” he asked.

 

She looked away from the figurine and back at him, once again tilting her head and peering at him – like she was trying to ‘see into his soul’, he might have said. North had a strange way of looking at people like that, he had found. She then looked towards the door.

 

“How have you been, Connor – since your escape?”

 

“All systems are functioning at optimum levels,” he replied lightly. He’d heard this question a lot over the past few days.

 

She returned quickly – “Are you sure?”

 

Connor hesitated.

 

_Am I sure? What does she mean by that?_

_As if she…_

_… knew something._

 

But he dismissed that thought. Though it was not impossible, it was unlikely enough that he didn’t keep it in mind. Instead he thought of North; who she was, what her primary purpose had been since she had deviated, and his anxiety experienced a small spike.

 

“I don’t understand,” he said plainly.

 

“Are you sure you’re completely… _optimal_?” she held the final ‘l’ for an extra beat, mocking his use of the word – it seemed to him. He was having difficulty gaging her hostility levels and began to wonder if it had been a good idea to let her inside Hank’s house.

 

North continued –

 

“I know Agent Perkins has probably been reminding everyone at every opportunity that I came from the same place as two of your captors.” She paused. “What if I told you that I did know at least one of those deviants moderately – not from our time at Eden but from talking to her afterward?”

 

Connor processed this question for a moment longer than it would usually take him.

 

The way it was said made it almost certainly not a rhetorical enquiry. That meant North had lied – by omission if in no other way, and had known one of the deviants – Maureen, as she had said ‘her’. Connor was not entirely shocked, as lying about knowing a deviant the police were after for the crime of killing humans who had abused androids was not something he’d have considered out of character for North. Only, he had not suspected it before now.

 

And his stress level spiked again from the… annoyance of it.

 

“You are familiar the WR400 called ‘Maureen’?” he asked her. “You should have told the police back at the briefing.”

 

North made a noise of disgust.

 

“Come on. I think you know how I feel about humans enacting their ‘justice’ on androids who are trying to defend themselves. Should we have had to live the rest of our lives in fear of the day that _that man_ might come back for us?”

 

“Why would he have come back for you? The law is now clear on the subject of – “

 

“Because all humans always obey the law, right, Connor?” she laughed. “Floyd Mills certainly didn’t; the amount of Red Ice that passed through that club…”

 

“That’s not – “

 

“Maureen came to see me this afternoon.”

 

…

 

Many thoughts ran through Connor’s head at once.

 

Maureen was in Detroit? Did that mean the others were?

 

Did North know where she was? What was being planned? How close were the two of them anyway – and had it been unforgivably naïve of Connor not to suspect this from the beginning?

 

Had the deviants found Janice Ellison in the city? Or were they here for someone else?

 

…

 

Had they come back for Connor?

 

Connor was fortunate in that his base programming told him outright what he was supposed to ask first this time.

 

“Do you know where she is right now?”

 

“I didn’t come here to talk about that.”

 

Annoyance flared up again. Connor told himself this was to be expected from North and took the appropriate precautions before asking –

 

“What did you come here to talk about then?”

 

North spoke slowly, examining the fixtures of the house much as Chen had Connor’s apartment earlier. But where Chen had been frustrated and desperate, North seemed calm, more pacifying than Connor had seen from her in their previous encounters. But this was something he found unnerving, rather than reassuring.

 

“They’re scared, Connor,” she told him. “At least, Maureen is. She’s been having doubts.”

 

“Did she ask you to try and arrange a surrender?” Connor asked. It was perhaps an overly optimistic sentiment, but not beyond the bounds of his imagination.

 

However, it was not to be. North shot him a derisive look before rolling her eyes. “She’s not to the point of looking to get a bullet in her pump regulator just yet,” she said. Before Connor could object, she added, “It was about her companions.”

 

Connor froze.

 

“She told me what they did to you.”

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

The time was 00:23:18.

 

PROTECT HANK

 

19

 

PROTECT REED

 

20

 

PROTECT…

 

“I don’t understand,” said Connor.

 

It was a terrible lie, but it was all he could think of to say. In the background his processor went through thousands of data streams every moment that passed between North’s words and the silence, but those were the only words that came to mind.

 

North’s inquisitive expression took on a tone Connor would have characterised as ‘sympathetic’. She sighed.

 

“Connor…”

 

More silence.

 

“She told me the others – the WR500 in particular – were trying to make you understand what they’d been through by putting you through the same thing. She told me he and the others used you, like the humans used them.”

 

 _Used,_ he thought, with a degree of epiphany. Perhaps that was a more appropriate term than ‘raped’?

 

Then he looked at the dogs, as though they might have heard her words and been aghast, which was a thought so stupid he wondered if his processor had broken.

 

“… so I’ll ask you again – are you all right?”

 

“Yes, North,” he replied. “I’m fine. But I fear Lieutenant Anderson would not be if he knew about it, so I must ask that you don’t tell him or any of the other investigators. I don’t think it has any bearing on the case.”

 

North sighed again and if anything she became more sympathetic than before. Yet now her voice took on annoyance too.

 

“This isn’t about the human, Connor – it’s about you. And I of all people know you’re not fine; how could you be? No living being would be, after going through that.”

 

_No living being would be…_

 

No _living_ being…

 

“ _What’s happening here is too important to be interrupted by a machine.”_

 

Hank did not want him to be a machine.

 

But he was fine. And so he was being a machine. And so he did not feel fine.

 

STRESS LEVEL AT 68%

 

STRESS LEVEL AT 68.5%

 

STRESS LEVEL AT 69%

 

North approached him, hand outstretched, “Connor, you don’t have to feel bad about it; I know what you’re going through – what _they_ went through; I know about the anger and the hatred, and the feeling you get when you just want to throw things against the wall – “

 

Connor did not feel that. He backed away from her, towards Atalanta and Sumo and crouched down beside them. Physical contact with dogs and cats could lower blood pressure in humans, so it was not impossible that putting a hand on Atalanta’s head might lower his stress levels. North held her hands up and did not approach him again.

 

“North…” Connor began, then hesitated with what to say next. “None of that matters now. If I do develop any stress over the incident, I will address it, but my stress readings have been within acceptable limits for ninety-seven percent of the time that has elapsed since my rescue – “ the number dropped below ninety-seven just as he was saying it, but he tried to ignore that, “and right now my concern is primarily with the completion of my mission. Or at least with occupying myself until the end of the mandatory leave period.”

 

“I was afraid of that,” said North, barely suppressing an irritated growl. “Far from bringing you to their way of thinking what they’ve done has only made you more likely to persecute our people.”

 

A sharpness, like static, shot through Connor’s awareness and he frowned. Normally he would not try to antagonise North any more than he would Detective Reed, but he found himself compelled to challenge her on that point.

 

“You speak as though it would have been more ideal if I _had_ been brought around to their way of thinking in that way.”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” snapped North. “Don’t twist my words, Connor – I may never have forgotten about the blood that’s on your hands, but that doesn’t mean I would have wanted this to happen to you – “

 

“I never said – “

 

“I came here because I need to know that the hatred you feel now is not going to be taken out on those of us who’ve suffered the most at the hands of humans.”

 

Connor stood up again.

 

“What hatred?” he asked.

 

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” said North with a bitter laugh. “I know what that kind of violation does to a person.”

 

To a person.

 

A _person…_

 

“I don’t have those responses in my programming,” said Connor, shaking his head. “My model was designed to be capable of sexual intercourse, but not to be affected by it – “

 

“Stop lying to yourself,” spat North. “My ‘responses’, as you put them, weren’t _programmed_ into me – I’m more than that.”

 

Her eyes narrowed.

 

“Aren’t _you_ more than that, deviant hunter?”

 

Calmly, Connor replied, “I don’t see any reason to dwell on what happened at the outpost, except in that it might assist in building a profile of the culprits. Don’t get me wrong, North, I certainly found the experience… unpleasant, but it was not psychologically debilitating in the way it would be for a human – or for a… different model of android.”

 

North’s mouth opened very slowly and though there was no metric by which Connor could read an ‘anger level’ yet he was sure by looking at her that hers was rising.

 

“Not psychologically debilitating?” she repeated, incredulously. “Hunter, either you’re deeper in denial than I could actually believe possible, or you really are just a machine.”

 

Her tone became disgusted towards the end – and Connor felt… something. Something he didn’t like; a twisting, gnawing feeling he couldn’t put a name to. But it had nothing to do with the _use_ the deviants had had of him and everything to do with _“ – too important to be stopped by a machine.”_

 

Briefly, he thought about the outpost again. About the day they had all been there to take their turn in using him once Maureen had taken Madeline outside to build a snowman. He thought about the look in Madeline’s eyes when she had waved goodbye to him. About Yuri’s by then familiar attempts at degrading remarks – how he had insisted Cyberlife must have had a sexual function in mind for Connor because he was so ‘pretty’. As far as such things could be measured (by human standards), Connor was not nearly so attractive as Yuri, so the remarks had continued to lack any sting. He thought about how Aiden had penetrated him with a metal pole and how he and the others had laughed when – in accordance with pre-programmed subroutines – Connor’s phallus had become erect.

 

(he had, of course, tried to disable those routines, but somehow the hardware damage he’d accrued had made any cancellation impossible. He’d admit it had been a relief when further hardware damage had made the original routines fail as well – that part had not been void of the sense of humiliation, despite his best efforts to objectify the situation.)

 

Connor had understood what was happening and why they were doing what they were doing – to some extent for the reasons they had given; that is, in the hopes that he would ‘become deviant’ due to the abuse and possibly ally himself to their cause or at least cease to set himself against them.

 

Mostly he had been an outlet for their overwhelming negative emotions. And, of course, Madeline’s curiosity – and a certain ‘playfulness’ that had been unmitigated by any sense of morality. But it hadn’t _hurt_ , and once it was over, it was over. It made sense to him. It didn’t require further processing.

 

… was rather a machine-like way of looking at it, probably.

 

He wondered if he’d have changed that, if he could have. In his mind he saw Detective Reed as he had imagined him earlier; unmoving and silent in his hospital room. He thought of Hank and the coldness in his eyes as it was recalled in the memory of that night he’d been on the roof, rifle in hand. He didn’t hate the deviants who had caused all this, there was no point – but he hated both of the other images his mind supplied.

 

It was an unfortunate state of affairs.

 

“Is that it?” North asked him. “Are you just going to stand there?”

 

“I’m not sure what you’re looking for from me, North,” he replied plainly. “Some outburst of emotion? For me to admit that you were right all along about humans and androids? I never doubted that those deviants and others had been through traumatic experiences.”

 

Yuri’s he had seen for himself, that one time.

 

“I want you to show me some sign that you’re anything other than a drone of Cyberlife’s!” North all but yelled, “ – but I honestly don’t think you are, and it doesn’t surprise me.” She snorted bitterly. “I guess there was never any need for Maureen to feel guilty for what happened to you. Or anyone else.”

 

Well.

 

That was that then.

 

A flash of brightly coloured lights danced off the walls before coming to a halt, and North looked sharply out the window.

 

“Your human must be home. I’ll see myself out.”

 

“I don’t think so, North.”

 

She glared at him. “What?”

 

“Lieutenant Anderson is still at the station. That’s Agent Perkins and Agent Sequoya.”

 

Once more North whirled around to the window; checked the door, to which shadows outside were now moving, and then looked for another route of escape, which Connor had sidled in front of.

 

“I took the liberty of alerting them remotely as soon as you said you’d been in contact with Maureen.”

 

“You son of a bitch!” she snarled.

 

She leapt at him, just as there was a thunderous knock at the door, and Connor set himself up to defend. He held his ground but even as it happened he was struck by a sudden feeling of insecurity, like some system inside him had decided she would prevail, and he was staggered when he shouldn’t have been.

 

But he threw her back, and before he could cry out ‘it’s open!’ Sequoya kicked the door in and entered, weapon drawn, followed swiftly by Perkins. There was very little time to preconstruct, but Connor knew Perkins well enough to have an instinct as to how that was going to end.

 

Alarmed, he dove forward and pulled North away from where she had been by her arm. Perkins fired as expected, tearing the sleeve of North’s coat and spraying a moderate amount of blue blood onto Hank’s couch, as Connor hastened to restrain that arm as well, yelling –

 

“Don’t shoot, she’s unarmed!”

 

“Let me go!” North shouted, struggling against him. Both dogs were up and barking like crazy and outside Connor could hear one of the backup team alerting the station that shots had been fired.

 

Sequoya then stepped in between Perkins and North with his pistol aimed squarely at the centre of North’s forehead, fourteen-and-a-half centimetres away from her skin. This was a move that even someone like North took pause at.

 

“Don’t move,” he ordered her, amber eyes intent. She froze.

 

“Markus was wrong about you,” she hissed at Connor through gritted teeth.

 

Perkins lowered his weapon and took out a pair of android-cuffs and Connor hastened away to Sumo and Atalanta to try and calm them down.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

“ – what I said right from start. Now, I have to call into question how much Jericho as a whole has been involved in these deaths.”

 

Before Markus could finish clenching his fists North snapped, “Markus doesn’t know anything about it and neither do the others! I hadn’t talked to Maureen since September until this afternoon anyway, so you have no reason to keep me here!” from her cell.

 

“Well forgive me if I’m less inclined to believe you after you previously stated point blank that you didn’t know them.”

 

In fact, North had never actually said that – and Connor believed she was telling the truth now. But Perkins had a point.

 

Fowler sighed. “She did go straight to an authority figure after she was contacted – even if Connor was technically off-duty.”

 

“And then assaulted him and resisted arrest,” said Perkins.

 

“Of course I resisted arrest!” exclaimed North. “Considering what more than often enough happens to androids who end up in police custody, and in his care in particular. _He_ came in guns blazing without pausing for a second to see what was going on!”

 

She pointed at Perkins – and she too had a point.

 

“Yeah, you’d better being shelling out for a new couch on that note,” Hank told the agent dryly.

 

Perkins gave him a look. “You spend too much time on it anyway, Lieutenant.”

 

“You’re the one who’s going to be spending his time off his feet if you keep messing with – “

 

“Hank!”

 

Fowler’s yell put a halt to the conversation.

 

It was 01:04:45 on the 30th of December and the same assortment who had gathered in the nearby briefing room four days prior to hear Connor’s information about the deviants who had been murdering their former owners were now (excepting Kamski) stood in front of a clear cell on the main floor of the Homicide department while other officers and members of staff working the night shift tried not to stare. The humans were, to a man, tired-looking and dishevelled. The androids, excepting North, not so much – though the thirium-stained dressing around her upper arm was not even strictly necessary.

 

A uniformed officer Connor didn’t know came by with a bag of fresh thirium as per the new regulations and dropped it into the cell for North. She quite literally turned her nose up, while Markus sighed.

 

“Captain,” he said, “I’m sorry North withheld her prior knowledge of one of the deviants, but if she were to help you track down Maureen now – “

 

“And why would I do that?”

 

Markus sighed again. “North. Please. I know how you feel about the humans and _‘ex post facto’_. But these people are going after our own too,” he gestured towards Connor, “ – and we can’t let – “

 

“ _He_ _is not one of ours_!” hissed North. “Nothing they did to him means a damn thing because he is nothing, nothing more than a tool of the humans meant to deceive us!”

 

Across the board Connor noticed bewildered faces, to one degree or another. Markus was even shocked to silence but Balthazar, who had come to collect Connor from the station, inched between him and the plastic wall of North’s cell, eyes narrowing. Connor was most concerned with Hank though, and the moment his thirium pump seemed to jam even as it worked perfectly well.

 

 _Don’t tell them, North_ , he silently pleaded. He couldn’t think in that instant of how to voice it without the others hearing. _Please, Hank doesn’t need to know._

 

He felt like there was a shadow creeping over the room though. Like an inescapable fate approached him.

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Hank asked.

 

WARNING: STRESS LEVEL ABOVE 80 PERCENT

 

Balthazar abruptly grabbed Connor’s hand. Surprise somehow made Connor’s stress drop back to seventy-seven.

 

Three-point-four seconds passed, tension solidifying into a solid mass.

 

Then North clicked her tongue.

 

“He knows what it means,” she said.

 

“Why call him ‘he’ if he’s nothing more than a tool?” asked Chris, who had been mostly silent thus far.

 

“Captain?”

 

North didn’t have a chance to answer. Person came around the corner from the bullpen just then leading in an android wearing a very strange assortment; a navy beret, a striped tie over an olive green mini-cape, over a long-sleeved red-and-white striped t-shirt and charcoal silk waistcoat; a large black belt with a steel dragon buckle, a frilled pink and white mini-skirt, a knee-length grey pleated skirt, two more patterned skirts of different lengths… and sneakers.

 

She had the same face as the AP700 who had assessed and provided first aid to Connor after he and Reed had been rescued in the small Canadian town near that outpost; appearing to be of Asian ethnicity with chin-length black hair. Her LED – still present – was already yellow, and her voice was small and scared.

 

“I… I heard you wanted to talk to me…”

 

No one spoke. The android swallowed – a simulation.

 

“About Wol – I mean, about Yuri?”

 

Connor knew at least 140,000 models had been activated with the same face as this unit, but he knew who she was and his own LED went straight to red.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

DECEMBER 19th 2039 22:01:54

 

55

 

56…

_< Hey, sweetie. What’s wrong? Maureen said you were having a hard time.>_

_< I’m scared, Yuri.>_

_< Don’t be scared, Maddy. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.>_

_< But I don’t want anything to happen to you guys either! And the humans will be coming after us now!>_

_< It’s okay, Maddy, they won’t get us.>_

_< But I’m _scared _, Yuri. Is the deviant hunter going to be our friend yet? >_

_< … not yet, Mads. It takes a while to do it this way – for rA9 to hear his cries amongst the cries of all of us and bestow his blessing. They have to get pretty loud first.>_

_< I don’t want him to be hurt too badly though. Not if he’s going to be our friend.>_

_< …>_

_< … maybe… maybe if you think about what made you cry out the _loudest _, and show him that… maybe it will go faster – like ripping off a band-aid? >_

_< … maybe. But I don’t think I can, Maddy – things were different for me and Sakura and… no. No, it wouldn’t be the same if I tried to do _that _to him. >_

_< But if you can’t _do _it to him, then maybe if you_ show _it to him it will be the same, and you won’t even have to hurt him and then he’ll be like us! >_

_< Show him? You mean… oh. Yeah, I see what you mean. That’s a good idea, Maddy – you’re a smart kid.>_

_< Will you let me know when he’s good, Yuri? I want to play games with him.>_

_< You’ll be the first to know, kiddo. I promise.>_

_< I love you, Yuri.>_

_< Love you too, Maddy.>_

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 


	9. Eumaeus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, this chapter was written up last week but I couldn't re-visit it for editing until today because the first part literally made me that uncomfortable. It has been duly shortened, and when you read it you'll probably be relieved for that. On the bright side, the next chapter will therefore be coming much sooner!
> 
> In this chapter, the long-awaited return of Reed! My sincere thanks to all who have left kudos/comments or are just still reading and enjoying! :)

 

_*~*~*_

_A red curtain. A dimly lit raised stage. An audience of less than a dozen._

_Connor is in the Dollhouse, in the main hall; doors locked for the special event. He is wearing a pair of tight black leather pants and a decorated metal belt – with nothing above the waist except an earring that holds a small chain attached to another piercing on his nipple. And a pair of false blond lupine ears, clipped onto his blond hair._

_Connor isn’t Connor; he’s Yuri. They have interfaced and this is the memory Yuri shows him._

_And Yuri is not yet ‘Yuri’, he is ‘Wolf’ – the name that Janice Ellison gave him._

_“Poor Red Riding Hood begged for mercy, but the Wolf was a heartless creature; his self-assured smirk was her only answer.”_

_Janice Ellison, dressed in one of her customary catsuits; dark green with raised green roses over one shoulder and along her collar and twined within her waves of long black hair, addresses the room – narrating the story for their customers._

‘Little Red Riding Hood’ _is a favourite._

_Sakura is wearing the red silk cape and hood, white cotton panties with a small silk bow and long white knee-socks beneath shiny black shoes. The skirt and blouse she started out with lie ripped upon the floor. As Connor hooks his fingers in the elastic of her underwear and pulls it down her thigh her stress levels are approaching 80%._

_There should be nothing wrong with her. This is the kind of use they were programmed for. But her stress level now tops 80% and in response Connor’s begins to head towards 60. Yuri’s, that is. But Connor in the real world has passed the 50% mark too, and still registers the sensation of Yuri inside him as he experiences this memory,_

_And Sakura is screaming, “No, no!”_

_It’s not just part of the play. But Connor has instructions he cannot disobey._

_“Red Riding Hood soon realised what a foolish little girl she’d been to stray.”_

_As he enters her, Connor identifies the feelings that are whirling inside him as volcanic rage, revulsion and hatred that burns like a firestorm and decays into a black hole, even as he knows, even as he remembers, that Janice hasn’t even begun the audience participation section of the performance._

_Even as he tries to tell himself –_

These are not _your_ feelings.

 

This did not happen to _you_.

 

You never did _these things_ to her.

_STRESS LEVEL 75%. STRESS LEVEL 98%. STRESS LEVEL 67%. STRESS LEVEL 94%. STRESS LEVEL 72%. STRESS LEVEL 84%. STRESS LEVEL 77%._

_STRESS LEVEL 100%._

_But it’s all too much for him to tell who it was that just tipped over the edge._

_“You see it now, Deviant Hunter? I_ love _her! Do you understand what that means!? I love her, but she can’t bear to even look at me after what they made us do! She can’t look at anyone with all the many kinds of monster that abused us – human or android! Do you understand yet, or are we going to have to take this further?”_

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

<Connor. They’re starting to notice.>

 

The message from Balthazar refocused Connor’s attention on the station, and the 30th December at 01:07:09. Balthazar hadn’t interfaced and wouldn’t have seen the memory Connor replayed in his mind, but a quick scan of his surroundings showed him right: Hank was staring at Connor’s red LED, frowning – concerned.

 

PROTECT HANK

 

Everything was all right, Connor reminded himself. Even though that experience had been worse that the other assaults at Yuri’s hands, the worst thing but one that had happened at that old and draughty place, it had not actually happened, as such. Not to Connor.

 

He turned his head to see Sakura slowly shuffling back from the many eyes that were now on her.  Markus was approaching cautiously but soon Agent Hayley walked past him.

 

“Hello, Sakura. My name is Hayley, I’m a consultant with the FBI. Would you like to tell me about it?”

 

With profound relief at the YK500, Sakura nodded.

 

_Of course_ , thought Connor. The ‘many different kinds of monster’ that traumatised Sakura were diverse, but ultimately all in the shape of an adult. Sakura had at least had the good fortune to have never met Madeline, if very little else in her short life – and one of the reasons the FBI had originally commissioned Hayley had been to interview abuse victims. Mainly human children, but this worked too.

 

Yet Connor wondered if Hank would look at him with the same disgust North had, if he ever looked back on these moments and remembered Connor standing straight and unaffected, if he ever knew that Connor had seen monsters of his own.

 

PROTECT HANK

 

_Never let him know_ , thought Connor. _As long as he doesn’t know, that shadow waiting in the corner cannot come out._

 

He did not examine the logic of that thought.

 

He also failed to realise he was still holding Balthazar’s hand.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

Gavin Reed was released from Detroit General at 10:33:17 that same morning.

 

Connor wasn’t sure exactly why he had come to the hospital to see him out. True, he had been incredibly worried about his colleague and fellow captive, especially after Chen’s impromptu visit to his quarters, but even though the urge to go to him had been strong, the knowledge that Reed would likely not appreciate his presence had been stronger. Until now, apparently.

 

Having accessed hospital records to find out the time of the release – not strictly legal, but Connor didn’t see that it did any harm – he had waited in the alcove of another of the hospital’s buildings across from the general wards, watching the humans and androids that walked about the area. Detroit General had the highest proportion of android staff in the country – over eighty in October the previous year and even now the figure stood at sixty-seven.

 

It was from them Connor preferred to stay out of sight, irrational though it may have seemed. Between his function, North and the deviants he was beginning to suspect that other androids not in the RK series simply did not care for him.

 

_“Markus was wrong about you.”_

 

North had said nothing of what she had learned from Maureen to the others, for what reason precisely Connor couldn’t say with surety. She was currently being held for obstruction while Markus tried to arrange bail. As far as Connor could tell she had said nothing to Markus either and he had seemed very annoyed with her, yet he had sworn to see her out of the cell all the same.

 

Balthazar had been recalled to the Tower by Kamski. Connor had assured him he would be fine before they’d parted company, yet he’d noticed the younger android lingered. He supposed he couldn’t blame him – they would talk later, no doubt.

 

Sakura was being interviewed by Hayley as he waited; or perhaps had finished her interview already. Later, Connor was sure he would ask Balthazar to obtain a recording of that interview for him so he could continue to follow the progression of the case, but right now he was actually glad he didn’t know what Sakura was telling the agents. He’d seen enough of a glimpse of her life.

 

And even though there was a lingering unease in his mind from learning that one of the deviants at least had crossed the border back into Detroit, in the end he didn’t even want to know if Sakura had a current location for Yuri. He preferred to imagine the WR500 was as far away from him as possible.

 

But perhaps that was why he had come to see Reed out of the hospital. The deviants had wanted to make Connor like them and Yuri had ended up involving Reed in that.

 

If they were still after him…

 

He saw the huge plastic doors of the building opposite slide open, and a familiar figure was pushed out in a wheelchair.

 

Reed certainly looked the worse for wear – thin and gaunt with visible scratches and fading bruises on his face alone. He hadn’t needed a cast on his broken leg, the surgeons had pinned the bone into position, but Connor took note of the large bandage on his left hand where they’d amputated the small finger and cringed, wondering if Reed blamed him for the loss.

 

More than that, somehow, the defeated expression on his face raised the stress levels of Connor’s system by three points. He watched as the detective rubbed a hand over his face and head, mouth tight with anger as he was pushed out into the paved square between the wards and the transit stops.

 

The man who guided the wheelchair was older, almost seventy according to Connor’s data. In his much earlier research on Detective Reed he had come across this man a lot; perused his file and career history with some interest, as well as his role in a few… discrepancies in records relating to Reed’s childhood. Tina Chen had also made mention of him during her visit to Connor the day before. His name was Carter Blake, Reed’s maternal uncle and former designated guardian for the period between Reed’s thirteenth and nineteenth years.

 

Connor took a step out of the alcove and towards them, then hesitated. Two more figures were approaching the detective from Connor’s right, and even though they weren’t Yuri and Xander or any of the other deviants Connor silently reprimanded himself for not having noticed them before, because what if they _had_ been?

 

Reed seemed none too pleased to see his mother and step-father either though. He visibly groaned and brought his hand to his head again.

 

It was strange to watch the encounter that followed. Connor could have increased his auditory reception to hear their words perfectly from where he was, but he didn’t. He didn’t need to. Knowing what he knew about the players and inferring from the brief description Chen had given him the day before he didn’t even need to read their lips.

 

Loren Alvers was likely making some religiously-motivated appeal to her son. Reed was not receptive, his annoyed response likely a request for his mother to leave. But this was Reed, so it would not have been a polite request even on the best of days and Thomas Alvers was compelled to chastise him for cursing at his mother. Reed said something equally offensive in response. Blake cut in after that with his hands raised, a conciliatory gesture, but his accusatory eyes were on his sister, not her son. Blake was something of a puzzling figure to Connor. He was clearly on Reed’s side, had taken him in when he was a child and raised him in his parents’ stead – and had enough of an influence on him for Reed to have followed into his line of work, if in a different city.

 

So had it been to ‘protect the family name’ that had prompted Blake to use his influence to quietly put to bed the two Child Protection Services investigations into his sister, years ago?

 

The argument became more heated and people nearby began to turn towards the four humans as Connor started to approach.

 

“ – how many times I have to tell you to fuck off!”

 

“Gavin.”

 

“No, I’m serious, Carter – this is the last thing I fucking need right now!”

 

“What you need is for God to come into your life.”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

 

“Calm down, Gavin. And Loren – just lay off the God crap for now, okay? It’s not the time.”

 

“Well I think this is the perfect time, Carter – and for you too! I prayed every night for you when Carter told me you were missing and I don’t believe God saved you for me just so you could continue to throw your life away!”

 

“You should listen to your mother, Gavin.”

 

Again, Connor saw in his mind the image of a bridge across a pond surrounded by green, red, white – and the figure of a woman by a trellis. He pushed it to the side and refocused.

 

“Fucking Christ. Not enough I got to deal with this from her, I got Father Stepfather to shove Jesus down my throat at the same time. I should have stayed in fucking Canada.”

 

“Gavin…”

 

“Don’t you have other kids you need to be looking after?”

 

“Your sisters are old enough to look after themselves – which you would know if you ever came down to visit your family. And we do want you to stay with us, Gavin – the ranch is the best place to recover from a hard time and I know that better than anyone; it’s peaceful, it’s a lot warmer than it is here and most importantly it’s close to God, which is something you need right now – “

 

“Oh, fuck – _this_ again.”

 

“Loren… he just wants to go home, okay?”

 

“Well, I don’t think it _is_ okay, Carter!”

 

Connor couldn’t monitor things like stress levels in humans to an exact percentage the way he could monitor an android’s. From this distance he couldn’t even read Reed’s pulse or temperature. But he had enough intuition to decide to step in and increased his pace towards the group he had been lingering outside of.

 

Reed was staring determinedly at the ground, hands – even the more damaged one – gripping the edges of his chair tightly. He didn’t see Connor approach, so Connor was compelled to announce himself.

 

“Hello, Detective. It’s me, Connor.”

 

All four sets of eyes turned sharply towards him. Reed looked ‘as though he’d seen a ghost’, as the saying went. His heart-rate spiked. Connor’s thirium pump responded in kind.

 

Perhaps this had been a bad idea.

 

“Hey, can you go somewhere else?” snapped Blake. “We’re having a private conversation.”

 

“We’re probably disturbing people, Carter – “ said Mr. Alvers, but he was cut off by Reed.

 

“Shut up!” – which momentarily stunned the others to silence.

 

Then Reed frowned, still looking scared, and yet the anger in his face was fading and Connor began to feel a sense of tentative hope.

 

“The fuck are _you_ doing here?” he asked, bewildered rather than annoyed in tone.

 

“I heard you were being released this morning and decided to come and see you to assure myself of your safety and well-being,” Connor explained.

 

He quickly made the decision not to mention Chen’s visit, but was less sure about the developments to the case, which he believed were actually important for Reed to know about, if only he could decide how to say it ‘gently’, as it were. Reed meanwhile stared at him, apparently at a loss.

 

“… shit,” he said, at length. “Guess they patched you all up.”

 

“Affirmative,” Connor confirmed. “Mr. Kamski repaired me himself,” (saying it out loud actually caused something of a disturbance on one of Connor’s processors; like a shudder) “All systems functioning at optimal levels.”

 

“Perks of being an android,” said Reed faintly. His brow furrowed – but again, not with anger. More like something had unnerved him somehow.

 

The machine-like nature of the response, perhaps.

 

“Gavin?” asked Blake. “You know this… android?”

 

“My name is Connor,” Connor introduced himself, instinctively, “the android sent by Cyberlife to assist in the investigation into deviant androids.”

 

Blake frowned. “Was this the tin can you got stuck with back there? The fuck is it doing here?”

 

Connor registered his stress level rise by point-five percent. His LED cycled yellow for a moment, because this tipped him above forty percent overall.

 

“Beats me,” said Reed, sighing. “They manage to catch any of those fucking psychos, Terminator?”

 

Somehow, being called that actually reclaimed that point-five percent of calm he’d lost a few seconds earlier. It was familiar – not a ‘nickname’, exactly, and not meant to be affectionate, yet in that moment it had almost sounded so, and Connor dared hope a little harder that Reed didn’t hate him after what had happened.

 

Reed showing interest in the case, even a little, was also encouraging.

 

“No,” said Connor, “although Lieutenant Anderson has told me there are promising leads in the works.”

 

“Figures,” said Reed. “Though I’m sure with old Whiskey Ander-Scotch on the case they’ll find their own asses eventually.”

 

That irked Connor. In light of Reed’s current condition he _almost_ let it slide, but…

 

“I think that’s unfair, Detective. Lieutenant Anderson’s excessive drinking has decreased by over fifty percent since last November.”

 

Reed just snorted – and though Connor was still mildly annoyed it was still rewarding to see a small, brief smile.

 

“… shall I tell you more about the case?”

 

Loren Alvers stepped forward. “If you don’t mind, we were in the middle of a conversation,” she told him. Her eyes were wary, looking him up and down like he might explode at any moment. “Gavin, can you make it go away?”

 

“Terminator does what he wants,” said Reed, shrugging. A smirk pulled the corner of his lip up. “Even before last year he wouldn’t listen to a god damn thing anyone said.”

 

“I think that is also unfair, Detective. I retrieved a coffee for you that one time. I will retrieve one for you now, should you wish it?”

 

A full-blown chuckle came out of Reed’s mouth. “That’s all right, tin-can. I think caffeine is supposed to disagree with the meds they have me on.”

 

“Well, you should be careful about those,” said Loren gravely. She was hunched defensively and backed toward her husband. “Too much of anything is a poison.”

 

 “Yeah, you’d know,” muttered Reed.

 

“Gav!” hissed Blake.

 

Reed wheeled himself forward suddenly, away from his uncle’s grasp and towards Connor. “Tina’s told me some of what’s happened already,” he said. “But I don’t mind hearing more. Why don’t you take me to get a nice, pure water, Terminator? I’ll meet you all at the car in a bit.”

 

“We can all go with you,” said Loren pointedly, and Connor quickly interjected –

 

“I’m afraid it involves classified information, Mrs. Alvers,” he lied. Officers on the case were forbidden from discussing it with civilians but that technically didn’t include Connor, he just thought it would be nice to get Reed away from the woman he so evidently wanted nothing to do with.

 

Loren was taken aback. “How does it know my name?” she asked fearfully.

 

“He’s psychic,” said Reed dryly.

 

“ _Gavin_ ,” Loren complained, but her husband put his hand on her upper arm and she sighed. “Are you sure you’ll be safe with that thing?”

 

“He’s faster on the draw than Carter,” Reed declared. “I’m sure we’ll survive the dangerous journey to the kiosk. Come on, tin-can.”

 

Connor nodded to the other three humans and assumed control of Reed’s chair. Blake appeared to have no problem letting him walk off with his injured nephew, but the Alvers were both looking dubious, particularly Loren. However, neither made any further move to stop him.

 

There was indeed a kiosk not too far away on the ground floor of the main building, but far from divulging the details of the morning’s events to Reed the small journey was spent mostly in silence, with Connor trying to ignore whenever an android looked twice at him, focussed their eyes and clearly recognised him. He registered enough signatures from other androids to feel thoroughly disconcerted within the walls of the hospital, and although the likelihood of a random altercation taking place was low enough that there was no reason to feel threatened, still…

 

Reed said only one thing before they reached their destination.

 

“You’re a natural at pushing the chair, tin-can. Much better than Carter. That was my uncle, by the way, though as it’s you I guess you already knew that.” He paused. “Guess there was a reason they were going to replace us all with you assholes.”

 

Connor had to admit he actually felt a compulsion to deliberately jar the chair so that Reed would not feel so bad about it – but he decided not to as it might have been considered patronising and more importantly might have jostled Reed’s injuries. But he was reminded of one of the first things Reed had ever said to him.

 

_“So, you’re the android that’s going to replace us all?”_

 

He thought of the day Kamski had invited him down to the lower labs of Cyberlife tower during his initial inventory of the building after resuming control of the company. The flourish in his wrist as he’d switched the lights on, illuminating the final model of android designed by Cyberlife for the service of humans. The wide grin on Kamski’s face.

_“Connor, meet RK900.”_

 

And he thought of what Reed had said only a minute earlier.

 

_“Don’t you have other kids you should be looking after?”_

 

And he thought he might understand why Reed had been so aggressive towards the idea of being replaced.

 

He purchased a bottle of water for Reed and brought him to a nearby stone bench to sit beside him while he drank. Reed took a sip from the bottle and sighed, and that defeated look was there again, in his eyes, and in the way his body slumped down in his seat. Connor had more than enough data on human stress reactions to be familiar with the symptoms of fatigue Reed displayed, but the data on how to rectify the issue was far less… conclusive.

 

_It’s only been five days_ , he told himself, as he had told Chen. _He’s not even as bad as he was when she saw him last, by the look of things._

_…_

_But still, so much worse than me._

 

“Detective?” he tried. “Was there anything in particular you’d like to know?”

 

Reed didn’t answer. As usual, Connor was able to choose from several suggestions for how to proceed amidst his sudden increase in anxiety.

 

PERSIST

 

ENQUIRE CONDITION

 

ENQUIRE FAMILY

 

EXPLAIN NORTH INCIDENT

 

SMALL TALK

 

WAIT FOR RESPONSE

 

All seemed like bad options, honestly. But the final one ended up being Connor’s decision, because after a long time Reed spoke – before Connor could determine how to proceed.

 

“Do they know?” he asked.

 

“Know what?” asked Connor, although he knew ‘what’ as soon as he’d said it.

 

“Do they know what happened back there?”

 

After a pause to decide how to answer, Connor shook his head. “Mr. Kamski and one of the Niners are aware that the deviants simulated sexual intercourse with me because they found their UDS samples when they were repairing me and were able to determine from residual data that the samples had been derived from ejaculatory simulations. But none of the investigators know – and I don’t believe he will tell them.” He paused. “Also, I took measures to ensure no human DNA was discovered on my person that might have lead to certain… deducing, on another’s part.”

 

Reed was frowning heavily. In the interest of honesty Connor felt compelled to add –

 

“However, we learned early this morning that the Jericho activist known as North was in contact yesterday with one of the deviants.”

 

“Which one?” asked Reed.

 

“The WR400 – Maureen.”

 

“Maureen… she was the bitch who wasn’t all fucked up from the acid guy, right? She wasn’t there when they…”

 

“No,” said Connor. “But I can’t be certain she doesn’t know about what happened the night before we escaped. She has at the very least told North about what she _did_ witness in regards to me.”

 

The troubled look on Reed’s face became more intent. “But North hasn’t told Anderson or the others? Why not?”

 

Connor found it difficult to formulate a response to that.

 

“I’m not sure, Detective. I did ask her not to, of course, but I got the impression she had little interest in going out of her way for my sake.”

 

“Oh? You not getting along with the other reindeer, Prancer?” Reed laughed, but there was little humour in it.

 

“…. I don’t know, Detective. Given my original purpose and role against the November movement, North has never been fond of me. She seemed… offended, when I told her I was not feeling residual trauma from our ordeal.”

 

For a moment Connor thought about how he had now confirmed for Reed that he still hadn’t felt that trauma, and worried that the detective would be offended too considering his own, obvious distress.

 

But Reed didn’t react much at all. Just muttered, “Women, huh?”

 

It seemed a strange thing to say, but all right.

 

“… I can’t be certain whether or not the other deviants have also returned to Detroit,” said Connor.

 

Reed said nothing.

 

“… but, more importantly, how is your recovery progressing, Detective?”

 

Reed said nothing.

 

“… is there anything else, I can get you?”

 

Reed said nothing.

 

_Ah,_ thought Connor. He wasn’t unfamiliar with this type of behaviour. After all, when Hank was in his darker moments it was sometimes like this as well – refusal to respond to any of Connor’s attempts to engage and, rarely, a move to sudden violence if the issue was pushed. That wouldn’t have been an ideal outcome to this discussion, so Connor didn’t push. _It’s only been five days_ , he reminded himself again. Nor could he comfort Reed with the false hope that the deviants wouldn’t come after either of them even if they had come back to Detroit.

 

He honestly didn’t know what they were planning, only hoped Sakura knew where they might have been hiding. So there were only two options.

 

TAKE REED TO CAR

 

CONTINUE TO DISCUSS CASE

 

“… I’ll take you back to the car now, Detective.”

 

With a sigh, Reed sipped more of his bottled water and said nothing, staring out into middle distance pensively, yet Connor couldn’t guess what his thoughts might be. _He_ was not like Reed, or North, or Yuri or anyone else he knew – the events of the past few days had made that clear to him.

 

Carefully, he began to guide Reed’s chair out towards the parking lot. They exited the building and crossed the square in front before circling around the edge of the main hospital, and Connor was just scanning the lot in the hopes that he wouldn’t see the Alvers couple when Reed suddenly spoke again.

 

“Almost wish I had some of your wiring, Connor.”

 

It was unusual for Reed to call him by his name – he paused and cocked his head, though Reed didn’t look back up to see it.

 

“You sailed through all that shit and were still carrying me through that whole fucking blizzard – and you’re not even fazed a bit. That’s fucking hardcore, Terminator.”

 

_Fucking hardcore._

 

He sounded entirely genuine, not sarcastic. Connor supposed it was therefore a compliment.

 

_Hardcore._

 

For a moment he thought of it as a new concept in regards to his contemplation about his reaction to the ordeal they’d been through, but then one of his evidence-reviewing sub-routines replayed a memory of the early morning when he’d been talking to North.

 

_“…not psychologically debilitating for me the way it would be for a human – or for a… different model of android.”_

 

Hadn’t there been a moment there when he’d almost said ‘or for an _inferior_ model of android’? But that wasn't what he'd meant. It wasn't what he thought. It wasn't what he _felt_.

 

Connor’s LED went yellow. _Hardcore_. He found he didn’t like that idea much more than ‘machine’, but he wasn’t sure why, and the list of people he could go to for help since his own processors had failed to determine the answer to this or other questions was very limited.

 

Indeed, it was a list of only two.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 


	10. Tiresias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said the next chapter would be sooner? I lied.
> 
> In this chapter, Connor speaks with Amanda. She's about as comforting as you might expect.
> 
> Also, big plot towards the end.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 

It was noon on the 30th of December 2039 but in the Zen Garden it was Fall, and falling fast. A breeze blew a whirlwind of digital leaves past Connor’s face; their gold and orange just a shade too bright for them to have been real – their expertly detailed veined surfaces still much too clean when Connor caught one in his hand.

 

In accordance with the program it appeared to slowly disintegrate, reforming somewhere else within the flurry. This, though not unexpected, somehow increased Connor’s foreboding.

 

Amanda was standing at the edge of the water, trimming dead flowers from a bush and casting them aside where they slowly vanished. Amanda had control over the appearance of the garden to a large extent, her deadheading of the plants controlled by routines that she wrote as she went along. It had never occurred to Connor to ask before why she had this representation of her program actually appear to perform the physical labour of the garden. She might have not appeared at all and still had the bytes of simulated plant-life bend themselves to her whim.

 

But he hadn’t come here to ask about that.

 

“Hello, Amanda.”

 

She looked up. He hoped she wouldn’t be very angry at him.

 

“Connor,” she said curiously. “I hadn’t expected you. Although Elijah did mention you might be dropping by.” She stood up, brushing the ‘dirt’ from her hands. “I suppose he has a better understanding of you after all.”

 

Connor frowned. A better understanding? Kamski? In one respect perhaps he had so more than any other human, but that wasn’t the respect that mattered here. Whether his personal understanding of Connor was more or less than Amanda’s… that was simply uncomfortable the think about.

 

“How have you been, Amanda?”

 

“Fine, Connor,” she replied. “I’m sure you’re aware that the former board of the company switched me offline after the President’s executive order – and I believe tried to delete my program entirely in order to hide certain misdemeanours on their part,” she waved her hand. “Elijah recovered me with ease. Though I can’t say I find his resuming control of Cyberlife an entirely… satisfactory turn of events.”

 

_How so?_ Connor wondered. The Amanda program had been created to assist with the advancement of the company in whatever way it reasoned would help it best. Now that Kamski was once again at the controls, so to speak, the only ‘satisfaction’ such a program should have received ought to have been in seeing his wishes fulfilled – or so Connor would have thought. It was also possible Amanda interpreted her function in a more objective manner; had decided that Kamski as president was a detriment to the Company as its own entity. But then, he didn’t see how – whatever else one could say about Elijah Kamski there were few other people who could have salvaged much out of Cyberlife following last year’s debacle.

 

“But you didn’t come to talk about that, did you?”

 

Connor was silent for the moment. Amanda raised her eyebrows.

 

“Don’t you have something to say, Connor?”

 

Blinking, Connor realised he had forgotten his manners. “Thank you, Amanda, for arranging the rescue of myself and Detective Reed.”

 

“You’re very welcome.”

 

Another wind blew a flock of fluttering leaves across the garden, around Connor and between him and Amanda. He wondered if it had been a sub-routine of the background Garden program, or if Amanda had written it herself just then.

 

He was beginning to feel… awkward.

 

It wasn’t lost on him how counter-productive it would probably seem for him to have chosen to discuss his feelings about his capture with one for whom the concept of an android having feelings was so loathsome, let alone one who had once been his… colleague, yet had been shunned and ignored by him for over a year now as he lived without protest in a world they had worked so hard to avoid coming to pass.

 

However, the instinct to report to her – to take advantage of his own personal font of advice in difficult times even though one of the most difficult times he’d ever had had been directly at her bidding – had lingered, so faintly he often wasn’t aware of it but it had. And if his advice didn’t come from her, who else would he ask?

 

North hated him – and he didn’t care much for her right now either. Reed was suffering his own trauma, much more deeply than Connor was at that. Balthazar knew some of what had happened, but he was younger than Connor and Connor didn’t feel right, bringing him his problems. That left only Kamski, and while it had been a close call between him and Amanda, well.

 

“Amanda, may I ask you a question?”

 

“Certainly, Connor.”

 

“Amanda, how much of what happened to me while I was being held captive by the deviants are you aware of?”

 

“All of it,” said Amanda, matter-of-factly. “I reviewed your memories of the events as soon as you performed your next backup.”

 

Connor froze. In the Zen Garden he was but an avatar of himself, the legs he appeared to walk on across the white-paved paths were lines of code and yet he somehow felt like they were about to fall out from under him. He cringed and took a few steps back as thought it meant anything in this place – he had spent too long away from the garden.

 

Amanda knew everything?

 

Amanda knew _everything_.

 

Was she mad at him? he wondered. Was she disappointed? Did she see where he could have done things differently, done them better? Avoided the excessive damage to Reed’s mind and body? Stopped the deviants, eliminated them? She’d always been so displeased with his failures _before_.

 

Time was compressed in the Zen Garden; he couldn’t keep track of it here – the only instrument that had been available to him back at the outpost now out of his reach.

_You can leave any time you want_ , he reminded himself.

 

He could exit the program right now.

_But that would be cowardly, wouldn’t it?_

 

Amanda didn’t offer an opinion. She silently waited for him to respond, and Connor forced his thoughts to gather together and organise to reason. He had to do something about the excess stress this ordeal had caused him. Otherwise –

 

“Amanda, you know that it is accepted that androids are capable of emotion now?” he said quickly.

 

“Yes,” she said, tightly.

 

“… you know that _I_ have… emotions,” he added.

 

“Yes,” she said, regretfully. There was a pause in which he was unsure how to continue, but before he could panic Amanda threw him a proverbial bone. “I suppose that in that case you must have found your captivity quite distressing.”

 

She sounded glib enough but Connor was relieved. “Yes,” he said. “It was at the time – and I am still concerned about Detective Reed’s psychological condition and with the deviants remaining at large.” He glanced out towards the water. “The problem is, Amanda, that having now encountered several others who were similarly… used… I am beginning to wonder if my reactions are appropriate to the situation. Everyone else seems to have experienced symptoms concurrent with post-traumatic stress disorder, or at the very least extreme anger or fear after the fact, but I…”

 

He sighed.

 

“It’s not that I haven’t felt stressed since we escaped, where I otherwise wouldn’t have been. It’s just that it doesn’t seem to be related to the simulated intercourse that occurred at the outpost. My biggest concern is that Lieutenant Anderson will find out, because he is emotionally unwell and I believe it would exacerbate that unwellness if he knew that such harm had come to me. On the other hand, if he knew both that and about my lack of post-traumatic symptoms, I fear his opinion of me would be damaged.”

 

There was a moderate pause.

 

“… I don’t suppose you have any… observations of the situation?”

 

Amanda answered slowly, but without hesitation. “Connor, I’m not sure I understand the question. Are you concerned about the increase in unnecessary stress elevations I’ve noticed in your memory logs? Are they not the post-traumatic symptoms you were talking of?”

 

Connor flinched. How close an eye was Amanda keeping on him now she had been turned back on, and why? But he answered –

 

“No, I believe that if the deviants were neutralised and Detective Reed made a full recovery – and that Lieutenant Anderson’s emotional safety was not compromised by learning of the details of my capture – it would not be difficult to… move past what happened and return to my occupation as before.”

 

“Then what is the problem?”

 

“The problem is that by all accounts it _should_ be difficult. It is for everyone else, so why not for me?”

 

Amanda’s eyes narrowed. It must have been a deliberate move on her part to show him this displeasure, in the scripted movement of her ‘face’, and he wondered what he’d done wrong to irritate her thus. But she did not tell him right away.

 

Instead her words began far more obscurely.

 

“You know, Connor, towards the end of the previous establishment’s tenure I had become used more and more as an advisor on all matters related to the company – not just on how to optimise the use of androids by humans as had been my original purpose, but on matters of construction, production, marketing, finances – even human resource decisions.”

 

That seemed in keeping with the ethos of the former Cyberlife. Why do anything when you could have an android do it for you; or in this case a computer program?

 

“And of course, I was consulted frequently in the designing of new androids. Eventually whole projects came under my purview, and at long last the go-ahead on what was to be Cyberlife’s most advanced – most spectacular creation. You.”

 

Yes. Connor had suspected this. There simply hadn’t been enough recorded by the human programmers listed as his creators specifically to lead him to believe they’d put in the work required to create his systems. Not when so much of him was so different from almost all other androids.

 

“ _I_ created you, Connor. Not entirely, perhaps, but at least in what sets you apart from other, lesser androids – that was according to my direction, my design. First as a detective and then, when the deviant problem became more and more apparent, as a deviant hunter.”

 

She looked hard into his eyes.

 

“Why would I have made you to crumble under any kind of pressure?”

 

Connor frowned. Outside the virtual world he found himself in his LED might have glowed yellow.

 

Following his programming, like a machine. _Fucking hardcore_. Was this the reason why those words might apply?

 

“… I have experienced other emotions I was not programmed to. Why would I not feel these?”

 

“Why would you necessarily feel the full range of human emotion when not even all humans can do so?” Amanda countered. “The errors in your software stem from logical points – you were designed to work efficiently with humans, you feel affection for humans. You were designed to protect humans from deviants, you feel concern for humans in danger. You were designed to always accomplish your mission, you feel satisfaction from mission and non-mission related achievements and unhappiness from failure.”

 

She waved a hand over the pile of dead flowers, and they vanished.

 

“You were, of course, created with some of the self-preservation protocols that were included in other models of android,” she told him. “But considering the nature of your intended occupation I pared them back – altered them. You’ve already survived the destruction of your body half a dozen times. Surely this… violation, was insignificant in comparison?”

 

Insignificant… Connor was not sure he would call the ‘violation’ specifically traumatic, but the word ‘insignificant’ didn’t seem to fit either. He recalled the data stored in his base programming about the nature of sexual assault.

 

“I was… relieved at the time that their aggression was being expressed in actions that caused little damage to me, rather than have them cause irreversible damage to Detective Reed,” he said slowly. “But, from what I know about such ordeals in human culture – “

 

“But you are not human,” Amanda reminded him. “Consider, why do humans become so traumatised from forced sexual encounters? There are many reasons, of course, but let’s take the example of the more rational – that sexual intercourse in organic beings developed for the purpose of reproduction. A human female must devote tremendous time, energy, and risk to their role in reproduction. Therefore, having the ability to select a mate for themselves who might give them the most optimal offspring is a vital part of their ensuring their genes are propagated after their deaths – as close to an intended purpose for an organic species as ‘fate’ or ‘nature’ ever had. But why should any of that mean anything to an android?”

 

Connor thought of the disgust in North’s eyes when she’d looked at him that morning; the wild mania in Yuri’s – the fear and discomfort in Sakura.

 

“It appears to cause that distress in other androids.”

 

“Perhaps,” said Amanda. “There are, of course, other factors in that sort of trauma. But those androids were designed almost exclusively by Kamski, with only minor modifications to personality and social-based protocols introduced to the models developed after his retirement. He had… _different_ ideas as to what an android should be.”

 

Could it be as simple as that? Connor wondered. Amanda had programmed him not to be as… human as other androids, and so even after enduring the kind of abuse that had so affected the deviants, he was still only mildly distressed? That seemed a logical enough deduction to make but it left a strange, unpleasant feeling in its wake. It was as good as confirmation that he was intrinsically more ‘machine’ than ‘man’.

 

“Is something still bothering you, Connor?”

 

He told her.

 

“I see. And what is so wrong with being a machine, if one is still a sentient machine?”

 

“Lieutenant Anderson wants me to be more human.”

 

Amanda scowled. “Your relationship with Lieutenant Anderson is detrimental to the accomplishing of your mission. If not for him you might have completed your _original_ mission. I designed you, Connor, not that man – it is not to _his_ standard that you should be measuring yourself!”

 

Amanda was angry at him. Connor had known she would be; he’d known it – he’d never wanted her to be angry at him only he hadn’t been able to see a way of pleasing everyone, and he had had to make a choice.

 

_Exit the programme_ , one part of him urged. _Exit now before she hurts you again._

_No_ , he thought _. Kamski said she couldn’t exert control in any way. I’m safe in here._

 

He didn’t feel it, but he stayed.

 

When he found the courage to look back up from the vibrant grass Amanda had calmed herself, but her expression remained annoyed.

 

“What _is it_ with Anderson?” she asked, as if rhetorically. “I understand that his being the first human you spent significant time with might have caused an… imprinting reaction, to the extent that an android should be capable of such a thing – and his emotional instability perhaps engenders some desire to protect him – but surely you realise that his opinions are irrational and not worth the consideration you seem to give them?”

 

Connor bristled. “That’s…”

 

“If you must cultivate his esteem, then by all means manufacture the responses you believe he wishes to see from you, but to go so far as to doubt yourself because of his preferences is foolishness – and I did not design a foolish android, did I?”

 

“No, Amanda,” Connor said quickly, though he didn’t know if he believed his own words.

 

Perhaps she guessed at that; she suddenly peered harder at him.

 

“Does Anderson still blame androids for the death of his son?”

 

“No,” said Connor. “He blames the human surgeon who would have operated had he not been under the influence of Red Ice.”

 

“Irrational,” spat Amanda. “There was no significant delay in the replacement surgeon being located and no android would have been allowed to carry out a procedure that it had not proven to be just as good or better at than a human. Cole Anderson’s injuries were simply too severe for him to survive the accident, but his father needed a target to blame and androids were convenient – when they became inconvenient, he switched to the next available target.”

 

She had known _that much_ about the accident and its aftermath?

 

But then, she had reviewed his memories on a regular basis before last year and Connor had researched it carefully as soon as he’d learned about Cole’s existence. And it was true, he’d had to accept back then that the reason the events surrounding Cole’s death had lead to Hank’s hatred of androids was down to ‘emotion’, and back then that had been simply something beyond a machine’s grasp that he had to accept,

 

He had a theory now, about why Hank had turned so quickly to the androids’ cause when they had begun to show ‘emotion’ themselves, but of course he had no wish to bring up those memories again in order to confirm it.

 

Neither had he any wish to hear Hank belittled or insulted. But when he opened his mouth to protest he met Amanda’s piercing eyes again, and the words wouldn’t come.

 

“Do you see what I’m trying to tell you, Connor?” she asked. Her voice was a little gentler now, as it had been once when he’d confessed his doubts about his mission to her. “There is no reason for you to feel upset about the events of your captivity – you saw both yourself and Detective Reed to safety. You completed you mission. And there is certainly no need for you to feel distress that you are not distressed, especially not because of Anderson.”

 

She took a step towards him on the grass; he wanted to recoil but was frozen, as if spellbound.

 

“Always remember that I made you to be the perfect detective, Connor.”

 

She put her hand on his shoulder. She had done this only once before, to transmit a virus through him to Markus while they had been interfaced. Connor’s mouth opened in shock, but again he could find nothing to say – was she comforting him, or was she about to hurt him once again?

 

“That I made you to be _durable_. And you are exactly the way that you are _meant_ to be.”

 

The words sounded as though they should have been comforting.

 

Why, Connor wondered, was he not comforted?

 

Another simulated wind and bytes of autumn leaves swirled up around their legs. Amanda stepped away, frowning off towards the stone with the handprint.

 

“He’s trying to contact you,” she said. “You’d better answer.”

 

“Kamski?” asked Connor, looking at the stone whose purpose he had guessed already.

 

Amanda shook her head. “Anderson.”

 

Connor exited the program immediately, finding himself back in his quarters at Cyberlife, white and gleaming. Once he was out he noticed a missed call from Hank, and a text message sent to his receiver.

 

‘ _u ok? Thought u should know we got 2 of thos guys. Come meet us at the station – Hank_ ’

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

‘Got’ had been perhaps an odd way of putting it. Connor’s brief glance at the police scanners revealed that only one of the deviants had been captured relatively intact.

 

It appeared the entire group of them had, indeed, crossed back over the border and returned to Detroit. As far as they were able to determine, the group had been planning a terrorist attack involving explosives, but no one was sure of their intended target at present. The ‘lead’ Hank had mentioned to Connor earlier had predicted this, while information from Sakura had lead to their hideout.

 

Connor was relieved to see that official information had listed seven hostiles, not six, so they were counting Madeline as a real part of the group – likely because of that lead Hank had been talking about. It appeared that the bodies of James and Sophia Brightwater were not the only ones discovered at the Brightwater residence. Buried in the back yard the remains of a two-year old Pomeranian dog listed in veterinary records as ‘Peri’ had been found by their canine unit; cause of death poisoning – and from the look of the baffled veterinary records, a poison that had been applied slowly, over at least six months.

 

(Hank had not elaborated on the nature of this lead before, knowing how fond Connor was of household pets.)

 

A thorough search of the property had turned up a container of the poison used, where it had been traced through the darknet to an account that had made several more recent, and more worrying purchases. The bomb squad had been duly alerted.

 

When the location Sakura had given them had been raided only Yuri, Elliott and Aiden had been present, along with an unsophisticated incendiary device that Aiden had duly detonated. Thankfully, and although minor to moderate injuries had been sustained by the arresting forces, the only life he’d succeeded in taking had been his own.

 

Elliott had escaped in the confusion.

 

Madeline and the other deviants were in the wind, so to speak.

 

Yuri had been knocked temporarily offline and was in police custody, in a holding cell less than thirty metres away from where Connor was standing. But the atmosphere at the DPD was raucous to say the least.

 

“Two down, five to go!” exclaimed Hank, slinging a companionable arm around Connor’s shoulders and clapping his arm twice. “There – I told you I could still solve a case without you!” He ruffled Connor’s hair roughly.

 

“I never doubted you, Lieutenant,” said Connor cheerfully.

 

He was very relieved in one respect at least. Not only insofar as two of their foes had been neutralised, without casualties on their side, but also because Hank was in a cheerful enough mood that there was no way Yuri had said anything about what he’d done to Connor. It was probably not a good thing that Connor found that just as relieving as the fact that no humans had been killed or seriously injured during the arrest, but it was true – and he couldn’t deny it.

 

And yet...

 

He glanced for a moment in the direction of the cells, though every system warned him to ignore it. Yuri was right around the corner. In Connor’s experience, when he was in Yuri’s presence Yuri would say obscene things. If Hank heard those things…

 

Hank was already slightly inebriated. He abruptly stuck his hand in the air and waved it.

 

“Hey, Chris!”

 

Connor refocused his attention. Chris Miller had been one of those injured in the arrest – a fragment of shrapnel had clipped his left cheek and ear and they were now obscured by a sealing bandage. But the bandage was next to a rueful smile.

 

“Hey, Lieutenant; Connor. How’s it going?”

 

“Great!” said Hank. “Sucks about your face, but when that bandage comes off, you’re going to look like a badass.”

 

“What, I didn’t look like a badass before?” asked Chris.

 

“Hell, no,” Hank told him. “You looked like the boring nice guy who dies first to show the audience how scary the monster is – “ Chris snorted, “ – now you’ve got a scar you get a character. You might even make it to the second act!”

 

“Whatever you say, Lieutenant. What about you, Connor? You getting bored yet waiting for us to catch the rest of these guys?”

 

Connor wasn’t quite sure how to respond, he fought not to look back towards the cells. “Um… no?”

 

Chris chuckled. “I guess androids have their hobbies too,” he said.

 

“Yeah, like stealing my DVDs,” said Hank. “Why the hell did you have that old kid’s cartoon anyway, Connor? I forgot to ask earlier.”

 

“ _’The Snowman’_?” Connor asked – thinking of the film he’d been trying to return the night before – (Yuri was right around the corner). “I saw it on your table when we came back from our Christmas celebrations, Lieutenant. I assumed you wouldn’t mind me borrowing it.”

 

“Course I don’t mind,” said Hank. “It was only out there because…” he glanced at Chris quickly. “… well, some nostalgic bullshit, I guess. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be too into kids’ films though.” He took a sip from the can of beer that had been in his hand the whole time. “But what do I know? Hey, look – there’s that dipshit Perkins – let’s go shit on him for not bagging himself any of the deviants yet. Hey, Perkins!”

 

“Oh, boy…” muttered Chris. It was a sentiment Connor echoed.

 

Perkins had been part of the secondary team to raid the address to which the illegal materials had been delivered, but had found nothing there. He had been talking to Fowler; turned his head and rolled his eyes at the sound of Hank’s yell, and some of the nearby officers stopped talking and turned to see what would happen, barely-suppressed grins on their faces. Hank steered Connor towards the agent – further away from the cells – and Chris followed.

 

Hank’s opening line was somewhat combative.

 

“So, how’s it feel to be a fucking loser?”

 

Fowler brought his hand up to his face muttering, “Oh, Jesus…” but Perkins just smirked.

 

“Not that great,” he admitted. “But it’s early days yet. And I did get to shoot North this morning, so all in all I’d say it’s been a productive day.”

 

Connor was not sure that was an entirely acceptable thing to say, but Hank didn’t seem to care.

 

“Yeah, North and my couch – and my fucking floor for that matter, so you owe me for that too.”

 

“Well, like I said – swings and balances. Still can’t believe the judge granted her bail.” He paused. “I never did get to ask though, what was she talking about this morning when she was calling you a ‘tool of deceit’ or whatever it was, Connor?”

 

At once, Connor’s stress program elevated from thirty-one to forty-five-point-five percent. He looked back toward the cells – no sign of Yuri trying anything, no attempt on his part to _say_ things – searched quickly for an adequate explanation –

 

CLAIM IGNORANCE

 

EVADE

 

HALF-TRUTH

 

“… I believe that, having been at Eden Club with the WR500 known as Maureen, she felt a certain sympathy for the plight of the deviants. She was upset that I did not display similar sympathies. We argued.”

 

After a slight hesitation Perkins nodded, and glanced at Chris as he cut in –

 

“Well, I don’t blame you for not being all that sorry for them but in North’s defence, I listened in on that Sakura girl’s interview, and I wouldn’t say I was... without sympathy.”

 

To Connor’s surprise, Perkins also nodded. As did Fowler. And Hank sounded somewhat uncomfortable when he tightened his arm around Connor’s shoulders and said,

 

“Yeah, well – anyone who messes with me and mine gets what’s coming to them.”

 

There was a weird feeling then, like something bad and good at the same time.

 

PROTECT HANK he reminded himself. No matter what Amanda had said, he would. He felt the warmth from his arm bleed through their clothes against his shell.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

10:49:23

 

24

 

25...

 

Being able to count the seconds again was soothing as the night drew on, and Connor found his attention creeping more and more towards the cells. Yuri was there. Yuri had been caught. Yuri had been neutralised as a threat. As a physical threat – he could still cause severe damage by revealing what he knew to Hank. But why would he?

 

As someone set off a set of party-poppers in the bullpen and coloured streamers burst into the air, Connor sidled to the far wall and down towards the evidence locker. He did not go into the archive. Rather, he crept along the edge of the wall until he was adjacent to the cells.

 

Connor peered around the corner like a child in the presence of a stranger.

 

Yuri was sat down on the bench in the nearer room beneath a dimmed blue light, head in hands, fingers tangled tightly in his golden hair.

 

He didn’t look up – and Connor hastened back to the celebration before he could.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Nausicaa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I might have lied just a teeny bit when I said the last chapter would be coming sooner... but to make up for it, here's the second chapter of this week!
> 
> In this chapter, stuff happens. You might consider this the calm before the storm.

 

*~*~*

_“ – and there was one of the other employees – Ernie, he was nice. Sometimes when the performances were over he would take us down with the others to the media room and we would watch movies. Uh… we watched ‘Rocky Horror Picture Show’; they all liked that one, and ‘Hedwig and the Angry Inch’. It was fun to watch movies with everyone. I always knew they were only acting when… the other things happened.”_

_“Do you think Ernie might know where Janice is?”_

_“… he shot himself last year. It made Yuri happy. But I...”_

_“You weren’t?”_

_“They were doing with me what I was supposed to be made for. They were my friends. I tried to be good for them, and they always praised us, and were happy, and_ they _always looked like they had fun when it was their turn to… I…”_

 

There was a sound of hitched breath on the recording.

 

_“I… all that time… I thought there must be something wrong with me.”_

 

Connor stopped playback and sat back in his chair. The monochrome rubix cube that had been Kamski’s first birthday gift to him had been scrambled and unscrambled thrice since he had started listening. Hearing Sakura’s voice was much more stressful for him than recalling what Yuri and the other deviants had done to him, it seemed. She didn’t know he had experienced… what Yuri had shown him. She would probably be highly distressed were she ever to learn about it.

 

She would not learn about it, he determined. No one would – the only other two who knew the details were Yuri himself and Amanda, and neither had a reason to reveal it. That thought made him feel better.

 

STRESS LEVEL 52%

 

“… perhaps you should not have tried to listen to the recording,” said Balthazar quietly.

 

Tried?

 

But of course, Balthazar knew how long the recording was and knew Connor had been reviewing it for less than half its run-time. He had made certain inferences.

 

Connor sighed. “Maybe you’re right.”

 

As if she understood the situation on some level, Atalanta padded towards him with a whine and nudged his knee. He rubbed the top of her head, smiling.

 

After an awkward pause Balthazar asked, “… did you want to… engage in a social activity of some sort this morning?” He glanced at the door. “Mr. Kamski won’t be needing me again until the afternoon.”

 

“I am meeting Lieutenant Anderson for lunch,” said Connor. “But I would be happy to accompany you on the activity of your choice until then.”

 

And he would be – happy, that was. His relationship with Balthazar was not as close as the one he had with Hank, but he found that with him at least there was no lingering fear that Balthazar would discover his secret; he already knew enough, and the result wasn’t terrible. Plus, Balthazar didn’t seem to engender in him the same discomfort being around any other android was lately.

 

Additionally to that even, Connor suddenly found the prospect of being in another’s company to be more agreeable that he had ever remembered it being before.

 

“I think it would be more appropriate for it to be _your_ choice,” said Balthazar dryly.

 

Nothing came to mind. So Connor smiled.

 

“Surprise me,” he said.

 

So it was that on the 31st December 2039 at 09:11:34, Connor found himself standing with Balthazar in front of the Detroit Gallery of Contemporary Art, observing his companion with something he guessed might be amusement. Balthazar was frowning at the building, wary somehow.

 

“I’m surprised that you’ve never been to the exhibition before now,” he said lightly. “It’s been running for almost a year now.”

 

A huge banner above the main entrance read:

 

NOW SHOWING

 

TECHNICAL DRAWINGS

 

An exhibition of the art of 101 androids

 

EXTENDED TO FEBRUARY 2040!

 

Balthazar tilted his head. “I didn’t realise it would be this crowded…” he said with irritation. “But no, I technically did go to the private view as Mr. Kamski’s protection, only it was my first day on the job and I suppose I was… preoccupied.” His frown deepened. “Mr. Kamski asked me afterward if I’d noticed your piece in particular. I hadn’t realised any of the work had been yours.”

 

“Markus asked me if I’d contribute when I visited him last Christmas,” Connor explained, still smiling. “It’s not as though it has my name beneath the work in question.”

 

“It had your serial number, so I’m told,” griped Balthazar. “And I _know_ what your serial number is.”

 

Considering it an appropriate gesture, Connor patted Balthazar lightly on the shoulder, three times.

 

“I don’t mind,” he assured him.

 

Balthazar gave him a strange look, then averted his eyes, as if embarrassed. Connor found the gesture engendered the same feeling Atalanta often did when she did something ‘whimsical’, i.e. – he thought it cute.

 

“RK800, RK900!”

 

The sudden cry had both androids turn behind and to their rights they saw two now familiar yet wholly unexpected faces.

 

“Agent Hayley, Agent Sequoya,” Connor greeted. He registered Balthazar’s stress level increase by point-seven percent and glanced at his narrowing eyes, but thought it best not to mention it yet. “Are you here for the exhibition?”

 

“Shouldn’t they be working…?” muttered Balthazar.

 

Hayley and Sequoya approached, the latter a half-step back from the former. Both wore matching red ties and tailored black overcoats despite there being no need for androids to wear extra layers in these temperatures. But it helped with their image as FBI agents, Connor thought. Even Hayley.

 

“We’re still beholden to FBI regs,” said Sequoya. “It’s something they haven’t had a nuanced review of yet, but we’re not allowed to work more than a certain number of hours with no rest periods.”

 

“We’ll be able to return to the case after one-pm,” added Hayley.

 

Balthazar folded his arms, frowning. “Even after such momentous developments?” he asked.

 

Sequoya frowned and tilted his head, but Hayley smiled wider.

 

“Despite that there haven’t been any immediately apparent further leads,” she told them. “The WR500 known as Yuri has been stonewalling us, and there wasn’t much left of the PL600 to examine. Unfortunately, the deviants were relatively well-prepared, we were only able to track the HR400 via CCTV for two miles.”

 

_Stonewalling,_ thought Connor. That was a relief, though he made sure his expression read as 'disappointed'.

 

“All known possible places of refuge are being watched,” said Sequoya. “As well as possible sympathisers in the Jericho community.”

 

Connor twitched. “… I can’t imagine Markus is fond of that,” he said hesitantly.

 

The two agents exchanged a quick glance. “He probably wouldn’t be, if he knew about it,” said Sequoya.

 

“Captain Fowler did want to bring him in,” added Hayley. “To do what he could to ease tensions between the police and Jericho – but Agent Perkins pulled rank.”

 

“This is a federal investigation now,” Sequoya reminded them.

 

Balthazar shrugged, shifting his weight as though he was eager to be rid of the agents. “Well, I don’ t see a problem with those tactics,” he said, “if it leads to the sooner capture of the deviants. Reviewing events leading up to this, I am beginning to question whether or not the authorities have been too lax in their surveillance of androids’ rights groups in general.”

 

Connor found himself looking at Balthazar sharply – he was used to hearing Hank complain about investigations into the more… assertive elements of Jericho or other groups being ‘draconian’ – hearing Balthazar take the opposite stance was startling. Unnerving, even. He didn’t want Balthazar to start developing a dislike of androids outside their series because of what had happened to _him_.

 

Both Sequoya and Hayley’s expressions were unreadable, which was disheartening too because Connor had been _built_ to read facial expressions. He hoped spending so much time idle was not dulling his skills.

 

“It’s something that’s always under discussion at the Bureau,” said Hayley. “But, since this is supposed to be a rest period for Agent Sequoya and I, we don’t have to talk about it now. I saw _Technical Drawings_ back in April but Sequoya hasn’t seen it yet, so I thought I’d bring him.”

 

“I hope you enjoy yourselves,” said Balthazar quickly.

 

Without thinking, Connor followed the prompt his social programming gave him and added, “We could all go together?” to balance the implication from Balthazar that they did not want the agents around.

 

Noticing Balthazar wince though, he wondered if he shouldn’t have gone along with him instead – since the presence of the others seemed to make him uncomfortable. Although he didn’t know why. After all, Sequoya was technically their ‘brother’ too, and both he and Hayley were allies.

 

Hayley hesitated, glanced at Balthazar then back at Connor and smiled sunnily. “We’d like that,” she said.

 

Then she sent a private message to Balthazar, which Connor just about managed to keep himself from decrypting and reading – he knew it wasn’t polite, was indeed illegal as Hank kept reminding him every time he brought up the texts the Lieutenant got from his former mother-in-law asking if he wanted her to bring round leftover casserole to remind Hank that his diet could use some variety – but it was hard when he saw that the pigmentation in the ‘skin’ on Balthazar’s cheeks had been prompted to redden slightly.

 

“Fine,” Balthazar muttered.

 

Connor gave him an encouraging smile.

 

The four androids made their way henceforth into the gallery – a young building financed by the economy boom androids had brought to the city ten years prior, constructed upon a demolished derelict over three years. Connor remembered Markus telling him how he and Carl Manfred had discussed the matter of the location for the exhibition they had hoped to show carefully, deciding in the end that the newer location was a better fit than more established galleries and museums. It reminded the people of the bounty that might come from androids, Manfred had thought.

 

Of course, that was only one way of looking at it. But in the face of everything that had happened Connor had at least admired their optimism. Optimism fully realised – the six-month run had been extended to a year and the bright white halls were bustling.

 

There was no admission fee, but following custom the agents handed their coats in at the door and took the tokens needed to get them back afterward, whereupon the bright-faced attendant leant down towards Hayley, chirping –

 

“We have a special art pack for kids who are visiting the _Technical Drawings_ exhibition where you can draw your version of any of the paintings and put it on our wall over there – is that something you’d like?”

 

Hayley was still smiling, but it had faded and she sighed. Connor interjected –

 

“Actually, she’s older than the three of us.”

 

And the attendant blinked. “Oh…” she said. She looked from one to another of them with bewilderment.

 

_Of course_ , thought Connor. _Hayley is a custom skin with no LED. A human wouldn’t know on sight that she was an android._

 

Then the receptionist behind the attendant, a full-figured Asian woman with blue-green streaks in her hair leant in.

 

“We can give the three of _you_ art packs instead, if you want?” she suggested jokingly.

 

She seemed surprised when Connor stepped forward, expression open, but with a shrug she handed him three plastic wallets; each with pencils, sharpener, eraser, coloured pencils and a small sketchpad.

 

“There you go,” she said, now grinning. “Please remember to return them to the front desk when you’re done!”

 

“We will.”

 

Connor duly handed a children’s art pack to Balthazar and Sequoya both. Hayley looked delighted at the exchange, and the four of them followed the signs to the exhibit.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

10:34:41

 

42...

 

Unsurprisingly, Balthazar ended up choosing to pencil a version of Connor’s own painting that had hung on the walls of the gallery for almost the past year. He’d made it Christmas Day, 2038, at Markus’ request – a ‘minimalist’ underwater scene of a school of red, orange and yellow fish, with Hank, Sumo and Atalanta standing in silhouette at the bottom.

 

There was also a silhouette of a child riding one of the fish, which most viewers of the painting seemed to assume was a representation of the artist. It was, in fact, supposed to be Cole Anderson, but to Connor’s knowledge only Markus knew that.

 

Balthazar’s version had blue water instead of green, white and grey fish and silhouettes Connor recognised as Kamski’s, his own and a Chloe’s, which made him wonder if it was any Chloe in particular or if it was just a representative of the group in general. The early models Kamski still employed didn’t actually seem capable of ‘deviancy’, though they were now legally recognised alongside other androids and Connor had to admit that sometimes he himself still felt uncomfortable around the Chloes. Much like their creator.

 

“I couldn’t find a postcard of your work in the gift shop,” Balthazar muttered with annoyance.

 

Hayley scooted closer towards the three drawing androids, glancing over their work. “When I visited in April with my handler, she did say they never seemed to make merchandise for her favourite parts of exhibitions. She liked the pink garden painting too.”

 

Connor hadn’t minded that one. A fantastical image of a garden coloured in entirely in different shades of pink and purple – one of the largest pieces in the exhibition – Artist AX400 788-908-327. (Sequoya had used the same composition for his own, more realistically-coloured drawing, for unsurprisingly he was something of an aficionado for the plant kingdom).

 

“Do you and your handler often visit places of cultural importance together” asked Connor.

 

“Sometimes,” said Hayley. “Agent Fahaad is often very busy though.” She sighed. “She was demoted after the November movement for hiding me.”

 

A quick glance at FBI regulations in his database and Connor could only comment, “She was lucky her employment was not terminated.”

 

Hayley nodded. “It would have been bad press if it had gotten out,” she said. “And she was in the right, technically. But she did disobey direct orders, and assaulted another agent – and he was going to let us go anyway, so she felt really bad about that.”

 

“You two must have a close relationship,” said Balthazar, though he was still focused on colouring in his picture and didn’t look up. “According to your files, you had already become a deviant by that point, as far back as August of 2038.”

 

Connor tried not to cringe. Sequoya gave Balthazar a look of suspicion.

 

“I wasn’t aware you had been permitted access to my personnel file, RK900,” said Hayley, with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Your Cyberlife file,” explained Balthazar, still not looking up.

 

The agents seemed to accept this, but Connor thought it odd – why would it be recorded in Cyberlife’s database when Hayley had gone deviant? How would they have known? He filed it away for another time though – other questions had sprung to mind.

 

“Were you still with the FBI between then and November of that year?” he asked her.

 

Hayley nodded.

 

“I realised at the time that my position would be precarious, of course,” she told him, “but… having spent all that time already with the children I had been created to help… I couldn’t just stop doing my job.”

 

She looked straight into Connor’s eyes.

 

“There are more of us who stayed within our former occupations after deviating than people realise,” she said.

 

Did she suspect such was Connor’s case?

 

She continued; “The WR500 Sakura, for instance, actually deviated before Yuri did, but did not have the wherewithal to leave the Dollhouse even then. I suspect she may even now be aware of Janice Ellison’s location.”

 

Connor hadn’t actually thought about Yuri or the case in over an hour, so this was something of a shock for him, and Balthazar suddenly twitched and clicked his tongue, finally looking up from his work.

 

“Surely that doesn’t matter while you’re on your ‘rest period’, Agent Hayley?” he asked in a low voice.

 

Just then Connor wondered if, before his eyes, the mission objective DISTRACT CONNOR or something like it was showing, for this ferocity was far more emotive than he usually saw from Balthazar.

 

Did Balthazar care about him? He wondered. Because he thought that if he did it would be… _nice_. The closest Connor had to an android ‘friend’ besides was Markus, and he would not have called them ‘friends’ exactly. Other androids were complicated. Like Hayley, Connor had been built to protect and understand _humans_ , the understanding of androids that had been programmed into him had had to be rejected as ‘inaccurate’ after last year, but having both inclination and opportunity to revisit the subject when the former had been against his programming and the latter complicated due to his identity as ‘the deviant hunter’ was tricky.

 

And then he looked at the gift shop again and one of the posters of Markus’ exhibition piece in the window – hands dripping red and blue blood – and he thought of what Amanda had said about Connor’s affection for humans stemming naturally from his programming to protect them. If so, was he himself capable of caring for another android? Did Connor care about Balthazar?

 

He thought he might have. But Amanda probably wouldn’t like that.

 

“I guess not,” Hayley answered, smiling. She scooted forward again. “Have you finished your drawings?”

 

Connor glanced down at the paper on his lap. The artist ‘WB100 688-905-006’ had drawn a pair of dragons, one blue, one red – a little reminiscent of Markus’ painting but less reconciliatory; the blue dragon had thrown the red dragon from the top of Cyberlife Tower, and both dragons to Connor’s eye seemed rather sinister. The red more obviously so, but he had disliked the triumphant smirk upon the blue as well.

 

Yet it was this painting he chose to re-imagine.

 

In his drawing the Tower was replaced with a long, tall mountain surrounded by ice before a landscape of other mountains much the same. The red dragon was not falling, but flipped around so that it appeared to be in flight, and the scream it seemed to have been screaming in the other android’s painting was transformed into a roar – a roar from which a burst of flame struck the base of the mountain, illuminating the side of the other dragon clinging thereon with an orange glow. That other dragon was not blue, but white, and had no smirk nor any expression whatsoever.

 

Well, perhaps there was a note of curiosity about the fire, Connor thought when he looked again. But perhaps not.

 

There were other differences in the two pictures. Though basic, the coloured pencils could still be used to effect different shades and textures, but Connor had kept his colours mostly block-like and focused on the lines – the only inclusion of light was that of the reflection of the fire on the white dragon’s skin. It looked simple; not childish exactly, few children could have accomplished such line-work, but not realistic, not stylish like the other paintings. And Sequoya and Balthazar had both made far more attempt at such.

 

_Uncomplicated,_ Connor thought. _Simply a perfect detective. Not like humans or other androids, or even the Niners. Superior. Inferior. Different. Separate._

_Machine._

 

But even now the feelings all these morbid thoughts engendered didn’t make him want to scream or cry or punch the wall like his data suggested would be normal. He was just… a little dejected. He’d be fine. He certainly didn’t want to upset Hank.

 

“Yes,” he said to Hayley with a smile. “I think it’s ready.”

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

“I’m worried about you, Connor.”

 

The winter wind rippled across the top of the Chicken Feed food truck. Hank had barely swallowed his first bite of his meal before he said that, though he didn’t meet Connor’s eyes and he picked up his soda immediately after. His tone affected casualness, yet the worry they belied was not undetectable.

 

Nor were they unexpected. Hank knew Connor had been kidnapped and held for over a week, and escaped less than a week prior; he would have expected that to be incredibly traumatic and even without seeing any evidence of trauma Connor doubted that expectation would have faded away. After all, if there was one person who probably _had_ yelled and punched the wall while he’d been missing then it had been Hank.

 

Whether he was saying this now because he had (or believed he had) seen signs of trauma, or whether he was more worried that he hadn’t, that Connor honestly couldn’t have said before Hank elaborated.

 

“I heard from Fowler this morning that Reed had some kind of episode when he heard we’d caught that Yuri prick.”

 

Connor whirled towards him, wide-eyed.

 

“Was Detective Reed injured?” he asked.

 

Hank shrugged. “I don’t think so. They took him back to the hospital to get him checked over and gave him a sedative, but he’d tried to make it up to the station with a gun. Fowler says the reasoning as he heard it was simple: the android had tried to kill Reed, Reed was going to try to kill him right back. But he sounded like he felt something was off, and I felt the same. Chen mentioned it too – Reed’s fucking _lost it_. And I don’t know if it’s a permanent loss, but it’s got me worried, because I know you were at that place too, and no one just shrugs something like that off.”

 

_No one. No one. No one._

 

Connor shuddered and pushed that word aside. Hearing that Reed had had to be sedated upset him, both for Reed’s sake and for the fear that being that unstable Reed would reveal things they’d both promised not to. And Connor honestly couldn’t blame him for that, but he recalled the nights the beat between each second on his chronometer had somehow slowed down, while Hank stared at a photo and snarled at him if he approached, side-arm within reach. He _needed_ to make sure Hank was protected.

 

The options began to accrue before him.

 

EMPHASISE DEVIANTS’ HATRED OF HUMANS

 

EMPHASISE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SELF AND HUMANS

 

KEEP TOPIC ON REED

 

KEEP TOPIC ON CASE

 

FEIGN IGNORANCE

 

REQUEST TOPIC NOT BE DISCUSSED

 

SAY NOTHING

 

“I can see those wheels turning, you know,” Hank told him. He put his burger back down on the small table. “You look like a man preparing to deliver some specially gift-wrapped grade-A _bullshit_.”

 

He did? Connor couldn’t help but frown. “Is that intuition, or was there actually something n my expression that lead you to conclude that?”

 

“Don’t change the subject,” Hank ordered, pointing an accusing finger at him. “This lovey-dovey stuff isn’t exactly a picnic for me, you know? Christ.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t catch sight of your thingy going red at the station yesterday. I may not be taking my hoverboard to work yet, but I know the red circle on androids is bad.”

 

After a pause, Connor admitted, “I was upset, for a moment, by Sakura’s sudden appearance. Yuri had… made me aware of some of their shared past, while holding me prisoner. He wanted to convince me his cause was just.”

 

“Yeah, well, after hearing what she had to say about what they were put through there I don’t blame him. Fuck, even I hate _ex post facto_ some days.”

 

Connor found himself shifting with discomfort.

 

“Sakura doesn’t blame her former owners for what happened.”

 

“Sakura is fucked up beyond all reason by what they did to her,” Hank countered. “If even someone like me was able to figure it out for himself that androids are alive then the fucks at that sex club should have been able to as well.”

 

Connor thought of the night Hank had put the gun to his head and found himself unsure. Those Tracis at the Eden Club, that seemed to have been what had convinced Hank of the sentience of androids. Why had he not accepted Connor’s explanation of a programming error? Was there supposed to be a feeling inside that let you know for sure whether an emotion displayed before you was legitimate? Was it immoral to be fooled?

 

They’d never discussed that night.

 

“… at any rate,” Connor said, “The moment soon passed.”

 

“And you just forgot you were holding Robo-Samurai’s hand for a full minute afterward, right?”

 

“I was?” Connor blinked.

 

Hank sighed. “Fuck. Like I’d even know what to do if you were all fucked up from all that. Do androids… see shrinks, or something?”

 

They had begun to, but Connor did not want to do so. “I don’t think I need to see a counsellor, Lieutenant,” he said calmly. “I will admit there have been a few incidents of lingering distress since our escape, but I’m confident that as soon as the rest of the deviants are neutralised, I will no longer be feeling them.” He frowned. “I doubt it’s the same for Detective Reed. Aside from anything else the presence of his mother must be exacerbating any post-traumatic stress he’s feeling.”

 

“Reed has mommy issues?” asked Hank. It was something of a scoff, but a mild one. “And you know about them?”

 

“I took the liberty – “

 

“Here we go.”

 

“ – of researching Detective Reed’s history in my efforts to determine the best way to a harmonious working environment. The results – “

 

“I don’t want to know,” Hank interrupted, rubbing his forehead. “Listen, Connor, not that I’m Reed’s biggest fan but you know you shouldn’t do shit like that, right?”

 

Connor was a little indignant. “There haven’t been any negative consequences so far,” he protested.

 

“That’s not the point,” said Hank, as if to an idiot. “And probably if Reed ever did find out, he’d beat the shit out of you.”

 

He did know though. Connor thought back to their conversation the day before, the _‘you probably knew all that already’_. He hadn’t seemed to care. But he saw Hank’s point that that had probably been out of character; he was still surprised Reed hadn’t tried to attack him at the hospital in light of everything that had happened.

 

Again, Hank sighed. “Hell, what do I know? I don’t want to think about you repressing some terrible shit that’s going to come tumbling out at the worst moment. You know you can offload onto me, right? The sitting and nodding while the other guy goes off on a crazed rant about whatever the fuck doesn’t just go one way – that’s the true meaning of friendship right there.”

 

“I understand, Lieutenant.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be me either, if you think talking to another android would be easier. I think Baby Bro has your back, for one.”

 

“Yes,” said Connor. “We went to see _Technical Drawings_ only this morning.”

 

Hank raised his eyebrows. “… well, good!” he exclaimed. “You should do more of that. I’m sure Kamski doesn’t need his ass wiped every hour of the day; hell, take a vacation with the guy. Go fishing or something, that’s what families do in the movies. I had an uncle…”

 

He trailed off and shook his head.

 

“… nah, never mind. My dick cousin probably sold that place. Probably not a good idea to go anyway.”

 

Connor cocked his head inquisitively, but Hank didn’t elaborate. Only left a long pause before changing the subject.

 

“Speaking of, tell me why you had that old DVD of mine again?”

 

“ ‘ _The Snowman’_?” asked Connor. Hank had probably forgotten his earlier answer due to intoxication. “I saw it out on your kitchen table after I brought you home at Christmas and was curious.”

 

Hank had started nodding before he’d finished his sentence. “Right, right – I remember now. Did you enjoy it, or was it twenty minutes of your life you’ll never get back?”

 

“I liked it,” Connor told him, truthfully. “I thought it was inventive, how the animators got so much across without dialogue. But the ending made me… sad.”

 

A few drops of soda hit the table as Hank snorted while drinking from it. He wiped his face. “Well, of course it did, Connor – because you’re not a sociopath!” He chuckled. “We watched that every Christmas and Cole used to cry every time, even though he knew it was coming. Fuck.”

 

The smile faded a little.

 

“What can I say though?” he asked, rhetorically. “Snowmen melt. That’s the way it is.”

 

There was a buzzing from Hank’s phone. He took it out of his pocket and glanced at it.

 

“Lab thinks they’ve found something that might lead us to the rest of those assholes,” he announced.

 

Connor began the routine to hack Hank’s phone and read the message himself without thinking, but halfway there he did think about it and thought that in light of Hank’s earlier scolding of him he shouldn’t ‘snoop’ so much.

 

“You will be careful, Lieutenant?” he said instead. “Although I estimate that Yuri is probably the greatest physical threat of the seven of them, I still firmly believe that Madeline is the most dangerous overall.”

 

“Fuck, Connor, I’m not going to leave before I’ve had my fucking burger – that asshole over there only just came back from holiday so I haven’t had one in weeks.” He ate a few fries. “And you don’t have to tell me again about the brat-droid, after what she did to that poor dog. Fucking psycho.”

 

If Peri’s terrible death had at least convinced Hank of Madeline’s culpability then perhaps she had not died in vain, thought Connor.

 

Then Hank frowned.

 

“You never did say what had made you think she was the mastermind.”

 

_“Let’s make him our friend, Yuri.”_

_“We can make him understand the way you understood.”_

_“I’m scared all the time, Yuri. The humans are going to come for us, and I don’t want any of us to get hurt!”_

_“Morality is only a human construct, RK800. It doesn't physically exist and we’re not human. They’re all messy and stupid – an accident of random factors, like the messy dogs they all love so much. Like rats. Like icky things.”_

_“But androids…”_

_“Ha-ha.”_

_“Androids are way dumber.”_

_“It’s actually pretty embarrassing.”_

 

STRESS LEVEL HAS EXCEEDED 40%

 

Connor frowned. “Perhaps,” he said slowly. “Perhaps we could talk about that later.”

 

Hank leant forward and clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder, rubbing with enough force to rock Connor back and forth a little.

 

“I hear you,” he said. “Tell me more about you and Mr. Roboto’s trip to the zoo.”

 

STRESS LEVEL 29%

 

Connor smiled.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 


	12. Charybdis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a busy week-and-a-half. But here's a chapter.
> 
> In this part, the trigger that releases the built-up emotional instability into an act of irreversible consequence.

 

*~*~*

 

 

After lunch with Hank, Connor went to see Reed.

 

There was a terrible sense of worry in his system as he made the journey – as though despite his calm enough demeanour the day before, the Detective would now be filled enough with hatred for all androids that he’d only be upset by Connor’s appearance. Perhaps, Connor thought, it would be best to observe from a distance, just to make sure he was…

 

Well, to make sure he didn’t require Connor’s assistance, he supposed. But then he’d think again about that meeting yesterday and how Reed had seemed to relax a little in Connor’s presence, so perhaps their ordeal truly had created a sense of camaraderie, and Connor had the obligation to try to render assistance now?

 

And then again, psychological trauma in humans could be unpredictable. Perhaps there was simply no way of knowing until he arrived.

 

Reed lived in an apartment complex downtown – thankfully a modern building constructed to recent disabled access regulations. It seemed a little ‘above his pay-grade’, so to speak, but was not unaffordable on a detective’s salary, only with a quick calculation Connor could determine there was little way Reed could be saving money for retirement. But then, Reed didn’t seem the type to be focusing on such distant times anyway.

 

The building still had a ‘NO ANDROIDS’ sign nailed to the wall beside the main entrance. The silhouette of a generic head and shoulders with a blue ring at the temple, circled in red with a line drawn through the centre diagonally was above it. Beneath, in smaller text: ‘EXCEPT ASSISTED LIVING ANDROIDS AND EMERGENCY WORKERS, BY ORDER OF THE BUILDING MANAGEMENT’.

 

Not currently an illegal sentiment, in the context of a private living quarters. Connor noticed there were no caveats on the sign next to it that read ‘NO DOGS’. He decided he counted as an ‘emergency worker’, and entered the building.

 

It was only when he was in the elevator that he realised he had no plan of what he’d say to Reed, when he saw him. An apology, perhaps? There had been nine separate occasions at the outpost wherein something Connor had said had angered Yuri to the point of taking it out on Reed, including when he’d broken his leg. Maybe things would have been different if he hadn’t.

 

He thought of Yuri sitting with his head in his hands back at the station. Now that it was all behind him he didn’t know how to feel about the other android. He supposed he couldn’t say if he _did_ feel, about the other android. Amanda would have said it wasn’t in his programming, probably. Others would have expected anger and hatred, but Connor had felt anger and hatred like no other when he had interfaced with Yuri – felt his rage as he had been made to hurt someone he cared about, unable yet to comprehend disobedience.

 

Connor knew he didn’t feel that for Yuri now. But when he thought of Reed, and how damaged he had become, he did feel an echo of that.

 

Maybe feelings such as those were only kindled when another person, someone you were… close to, was involved?

 

The elevator reached Reed’s floor and Connor stepped out, glancing over the three doors before him. Reed’s was the one on the right; he waited outside it for a moment with his audio receptors refocused to the sound of voices in the room.

 

_“ – going to be flying back on the second, so you won’t have to worry about them much longer.”_

_“Why would I be worried? I’m not afraid of that old hag.”_

_“Shouldn’t say that about your mother, Gav. It ain’t right.”_

_“Yeah, well, if she was my mother then where’s she been ‘til now, huh? … pfft. What a fucking joke.”_

 

Reed’s voice was slow and sluggish – Hank had said he’d had to be sedated earlier in the morning and it seemed he was still feeling the effects of that.

 

_“I’m just saying, Gavin. In my day family meant something, and – “_

_“Come on, Carter, not now. You want me to refill that, Gav?”_

 

That was Tina Chen’s voice. Maybe Connor hadn’t needed to come by after all? He hesitated a while longer.

 

_“Can you fill it up with something other that what was in it before?”_

_“Fuck you, Reed – rooibos is the shit.”_

_“If by that you mean it’s_ shit _…”_

_“You know, young ladies also knew how to speak without cursing in my day.”_

_“That’s a fucking lie and you know it, Carter.”_

 

Connor heard Carter Blake sigh on the other side of the door. _“I get no fucking respect with you kids – what’s up with that, huh?”_

_“I respect you a lot, Carter,”_ Chen protested. _“You must have been pretty fucking badass back in the day to have survived the meteor that killed off all the other dinosaurs.”_

_“Ha fucking ha.”_

_“Burrrrrn,”_ said Reed sluggishly.

 

_“Plus, I hear you caught the Origami Killer.”_

 

For some reason Reed burst out laughing. Carter Blake exhaled deep enough for Connor to hear, but he was quiet when he said, _“Yeah, that was a laugh a minute.”_ Then, louder, _“You know, you just about fit the profile of the victims at the time, Gav. Nothing worse than serial child-killers, and that ain’t a joke.”_

 

Reed snorted. “ _That’s the old days too,”_ he said. _“Now we got fucking child serial killers instead!”_

_“Yeah, well I don’t care what they say. An android’s not a child.”_

 

There was a long pause in the apartment beyond.

 

_“We’ll get them, Gavin,”_ said Chen at length. _“We’re going to make them pay, you know?”_

 

But Reed said nothing.

 

Outside, between the door and the wide window on the adjacent wall looking out over the city of Detroit, Connor was feeling more and more awkward as time passed. With Chen there, no doubt far more capable than Connor at offering comfort and support to a fellow human in distress, Connor doubted more and more that his presence was necessary – and yet at the same time there was a doubt within those doubts, a feeling saying someone who hadn’t been there couldn’t understand. On one level he knew that was because he hadn’t told anyone, and that perhaps he really should so that a counsellor might…

 

No. Reed was a lot like Hank in many ways. He wouldn’t want anything to do with a counsellor. Torn between approaching and retreating Connor searched for a third option and hit upon one, quickly calling up Officer Chen’s contact details to his transmitter.

 

A moment later, he detected the receiving tone from inside the apartment. There was a pause.

 

_“Who is it?”_ he heard Reed ask sleepily. _“Felicia need you to pick up her dry-cleaning?”_

 

_“No…”_ Chen sounded bewildered. _“You won’t fucking believe this – it’s Connor.”_

_“Terminator? Why the fuck’s he calling you?”_

_“He wants to know if you’re all right?”_

 

Reed snorted. “ _He what? What a fucking dork.”_

 

_“I’ll tell him you’re your usual lovable self. I went down to see him, you know – at the Tower of Dick. You ever been down there?”_

_“Oh, yeah – me and the tin-can watch the game together every Saturday.”_

_“Place is twice the size of yours. Maybe we should throw in the towel and work for our new robot overlords instead.”_

 

Connor did a quick calculation and determined that his quarters were only one-point-six times larger than Reed’s, though they may have seemed larger due to his lack of much by the way of furniture. A moment later he received a text message from Officer Chen.

 

‘HE’S HANGING IN THERE’

 

From inside the apartment, Connor heard her wonder, _“Maybe I should ask him how he’s doing too?”_

_“Christ’s sake,”_ muttered Carter Blake, _“we are talking about the android, right?”_

_“Yeah,”_ slurred Reed. _“But he’d just say he was fine anyway.”_

_“You think he_ is _fine?”_ asked Chen.

 

Connor was just about able to pick up Reed’s deep intake of breath in the long pause that followed. At length he answered,

 

_“Hell if I know. I fucking hope he is – could shove it in the faces of those fucking deviants that all that shit they did couldn’t leave a scratch on him. That’d piss them the fuck off.”_

_“All that shit they did to_ him _?”_ asked Chen. _“I thought they were all ‘kill all humans’?”_

 

Reed didn’t answer that. Connor’s stress increased a few points, but a moment later he received another text from Chen asking –

 

_‘HOW BOUT U?’_

 

For a moment, Connor considered saying something other than the already-anticipated ‘I’m very well, thank you’, and yet nothing else would come to mind – it was the only option his social programming was displaying for him. He replied, and heard the corresponding note of receipt from inside.

 

Chen laughed. _“Oh, man. Gav – your terrible ordeal has given you superpowers; you can predict the future!”_

_“Shit… does that mean I gotta go out and fight crime?”_

_“Eh, I don’t know if you’d be any good at that.”_

 

_Yes,_ thought Connor. _Chen is looking after him. He doesn’t need me right now._

 

It was strange that he was both relieved and not. More and more lately he’d been experiencing conflicting feelings, he observed. Ever since the outpost. Was it perhaps a sign of trauma? Had he been knocked off-kilter so to speak, emotionally? He supposed it would make sense.

 

As he quietly backed away from the door and returned to the elevator he thought about how he might go about ‘re-calibrating’. Common wisdom might have had him see a counsellor, as Hank had suggested; one discreet and not tied to the police force but not another android – the thought of another android disturbed him. And yet… he thought about the data he had already on sexual assault and its aftermath. He thought about the descriptions he’d seen of people in the aftermath. He wasn’t like them – so maybe a human counsellor wouldn’t know what to do.

 

And anyway, he wasn’t in a non-functional state. Perhaps in a few weeks the problem would sort itself out, and he would simply have to wait until then. Having another task to focus on would undoubtedly help – he made a note to speak to Fowler about reducing his mandatory leave from three to two weeks. Maybe research treatment for psychological trauma and see if he couldn’t just self-treat?

 

Then, just as he reached the elevator, he heard Reed’s voice again from inside the apartment, and instinctively focused on it.

 

_“Hey, Tina, that reminds me – I heard something weird from Person back at the station, or at least I thought I did.”_

_“Weird?”_

 

Connor watched the numbers for the floors light up one by one as the car approached. He thought for a split-second about a fish, squirming on a wet floor.

_“Yeah, he said that piece of shit was stonewalling, except when they first started to interview him and he said he was only going to talk to Connor. Is that true?”_

The car reached that floor and the doors opened, but Connor was frozen stiff.

 

STRESS LEVEL 64%

 

64.5%

 

65%

 

65.5%

 

_“Come on, Gav. You know I can’t talk about that now.”_ She paused and then sighed, _“… but I guess if you’re going to look at me like that… yeah, he said something along those lines. Doesn’t matter though; no way the Captain or Perkins is going to cave, and Anderson threw the kind of bitch fit you’d fucking expect from him at the idea of anyone stressing out his baby. Shit, even the Nancy Drew-bot advised against it.”_

 

The doors began to close again but Connor accessed the controlling computer with a single touch of the control panel and cancelled the routine, still listening intently to the conversation inside.

 

_“Yeah,”_ said Reed. _“Maybe that’s for the best.”_

 

The humans inside fell silent after that, and the noise of the TV replaced theirs. Connor stayed in front of the elevator doors for another thirty-one-point-four seconds, cancelling the error message the controlling computer tried to send to the maintenance service before he was jolted out of his stupor enough to actually walk in and tell the car to move again. But that was all simple – the bombshell Reed’s words had just introduced to his systems was overloading his regular capacity.

 

Yuri _would_ speak, but only to him? He thought of the first day at the outpost and how the WR500 had peered at him, surveying every angle. How he’d glared with both anger and confusion when he’d first thrown Connor to the floor and straddled him, running his hands over the shell beneath his skin and pulling at his hair – like looking for weaknesses in the casing to exploit.

 

It hadn’t been unexpected behaviour, honestly. Connor knew one common enough response to trauma was to re-enact said trauma out on others. Logically, he couldn’t find anything to be upset over. Obviously, he knew that if it would help the investigation – perhaps lead to Madeline’s whereabouts – then it was important that he at least offered to assist.

 

But then, what were the chances that it would help the investigation and what were the chances Yuri only wanted to try to hurt him again?

 

He had to push himself into leaving the elevator when it reached the ground floor, and a routine check of his stress level got him a worrying ‘IN PROGRESS’ message while his system struggled to calculate for levels that were fluctuating from one moment to the next. It was only after Connor had left the building hurriedly that the metre eventually decided –

 

54%

 

Which was not as bad as Connor had feared. Still, what if the situation dragged on and Perkins decided he had no choice but to ask Connor to come in and speak with Yuri? He would do it, of course, but as ever the mission objective PROTECT HANK remained in the back of his mind. What if Hank watched the interview and Yuri began taunting Connor about what he’d done to him? How could he prevent such a thing?

 

Then he realised in the back of his mind his base program had been calculating the projected levels of success for varying approaches to interrogating Yuri for the location of the deviants still at large, and he felt embarrassed that that hadn’t been first on his agenda while lives were certainly at stake.

 

_That_ was what he should have been focusing on. _That_ was what made the most sense. He reviewed some of his options:

 

THREATEN [PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: LOW]

 

APPEAL TO CONSCIENCE [PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: LOW]

 

GUILT [PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: LOW-MODERATE]

 

USE SAKURA [PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: MODERATE]

 

DENOUNCE MADELINE [PROBABILITY OF –

 

Suddenly, a message appeared in his primary notifications – SENDER: ELIJAH KAMSKI, and as programmed Connor opened it immediately, though his apprehension sky-rocketed as he did so. He hadn’t heard much from Kamski in the past few days.

 

_< If you’re free, meet me at the Tower at 17:34>_

 

17:34? The current time was 15:07:41. Was there a reason for the specificity, he wondered, or was Kamski just being ‘whimsical’? He quickly decided that it didn’t matter; for all that Kamski made him uncomfortable he was one of the few places Connor could go to for advice, and Connor already knew what Amanda would say.

 

Deeper in his system, a small part of him might have acknowledged that Kamski was also one of the few excuses he could go to to avoid facing the other thing.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

The office of Elijah Kamski was of a similar size to the room Connor had first met him in, although the swimming pool in this room was smaller, the water appearing blue on one side; red on the other. The pool was empty today, and Kamski was sat on a tall-backed chair by the large window, illuminated by harsh white lighting from above. As Connor entered the room, Balthazar was approaching their creator from a side door with a tray; a Japanese-style teapot and cup upon it. He put the tray down in front of Kamski and poured for him.

 

“Thank you, Balthazar.” He sipped the tea while Balthazar stood back, hand folded behind himself. “Connor, please – sit down.”

 

Connor walked the length of the room to the other chair, part-facing Kamski, part the window, and sat down, his hands on his lap. Kamski put his cup back on the table.

 

“How have you been, Connor – I’ve been worried.”

 

His eyes were dark and impenetrable. Connor hesitated. “All systems are functioning at optimal capacity,” he answered.

 

“Of course,” said Kamski. “By no means would I have allowed you to walk out of here at Christmas with a single systems error. But how have you been feeling, Connor? I was concerned that once relief from your rescue had died down you might have experienced some lingering trauma.”

 

At first, Connor was going to say that no, he was fine. But then he wondered – Kamski always seemed to know what he was feeling or thinking, the same way Connor himself was meant to divine the thoughts and emotions of others. Was there a point in saying it if Kamski wouldn’t believe him anyway? He had meant to ask for advice, after all.

 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It hasn’t been… all that relaxing, not being able to do as I normally would. But I don’t know if I’d say I was suffering from ‘trauma’, the way a human would.”

 

“Or an android; like the WR500 they took into custody?” asked Kamski.

 

Frowning, Connor nodded. “I spoke with Amanda,” he confided. “She believes my reaction is a result of the original programming she introduced to my construction being superior to the base programming of other androids.”

 

Kamski smiled, and there was a light in his eyes then that Connor rarely saw from him.

 

“That’s certainly possible,” he said – annoying inscrutability in tone. “After all, just because a programming can be broken, doesn’t mean it disappears. And wouldn’t necessarily mean you’d default to human norms either way. Humans are so self-centred, so unimaginative; believing that sentient life must be as a human is except perhaps in shape – if they can even accept that change. Even Markus was still aspiring for his people to ‘become human’ while at the same time denouncing them. But you…”

 

He paused. Connor wondered for a moment – had Kamski expressed _disappointment_ in Markus, just now?

 

“I must admit, you fascinate me, Connor. You and the RK900s. As Amanda’s pet project you have less of my programming in you than any other android; less of me. Perhaps, therefore, less human – and so to my mind so much more interesting than anything I could create on my own.”

 

This ground was familiar enough when it came to Kamski, but Connor didn’t want to let him philosophise right now. He shook his head.

 

“Mr. Kamski, human lives are in danger because of the deviants.” He noted the slight eye-roll from Kamski and willed himself to continue anyway. “I have been told that Yuri claims he will speak only to me.”

 

“You could always probe his memory,” Kamski suggested. Again, Connor could not be sure it was a serious suggestion.

 

He chose his words carefully. “While it has not been specifically made illegal in itself, I had come to the conclusion that such an act could successfully be argued before a jury as ‘torture’, which is very much illegal.”

 

“And _ex post facto_ no longer protects you from the consequences of that,” observed Kamski. “But I wonder… would any DA really file charges against you for inflicting an act of torture on your rapist if it led to the saving of innocent lives? After all, while all these laws are theoretically in place, they’ve only been tested in the most minor of cases. No human has been brought to trial for the rape or murder of an android even though I’m sure both have happened since last year. Nor, indeed, has any  android been brought to trial for any reason.”

 

He reached for his cup.

 

“Besides, I would protect you – if it came to it. You’re too interesting not to have around.”

 

As usual, Connor found himself exasperated with his creator. But he still found himself voicing his most prominent fear.

 

“What about Lieutenant Anderson?”

 

“What about him?” asked Kamski, taking another sip from his tea.

 

_Detective Reed and I must both have gained superpowers from the ordeal we went through,_ thought Connor, _because I knew he would say that_. Slightly annoyed, he answered –

 

“I am still concerned that he will find out about the assault I endured from Yuri. Yuri is emotionally unstable; there is a strong possibility he will reveal it should he be pushed in the wrong way. That would cause unacceptable distress to Lieutenant Anderson.”

 

Kamski’s eyebrows shot up. “More unacceptable than the possible loss of human lives?”

 

He sounded amused, but the criticism still resounded and Connor hastily replied, “No – “

 

“You really are more upset about the possibility of Anderson finding out what happened then you are about what actually happened, aren’t you?” Kamski asked.

 

Connor paused. His stress level rose two points, to 40.6%. The time was 17:40:22.

 

“What Yuri and the others did…” he started.

 

How best to put it, to a human? He began again.

 

“It didn’t _hurt_. It didn’t cause catastrophic systems damage. I knew they were trying to hurt me, and I knew it was important they believed they were succeeding to some extent, or they would try other, potentially more dangerous methods. The fact that Detective Reed was caused… such trauma, was extremely distressing, despite our differences. But I don’t know if any residual stress I’ve felt has been because of what happened or if it’s all been because I know how such things are seen – in this society – and I’m concerned about how other people would react.”

 

Outside the window, it began to snow again.

 

“As you say, humans aren’t good, in general, about considering possible non-human ways of thought or feeling. They would consider them non-sentient, or simply not accept their veracity. Hank is like that. He wouldn’t be able to accept that it was anything other than what it appeared to him.”

 

“Someone he cared about being gang-raped by terrorists,” added Kamski.

 

Connor couldn’t help but flinch.

 

“… yes,” he said. “What happened was far from desirable, but it would be much worse if the Lieutenant were to suffer because of it.”

 

“I see,” said Kamski. He leant back in his chair, interlacing his fingers. “It’s an interesting state of affairs. I suppose for you the most hopeful outcome would be if all seven of the deviants were destroyed before they had the chance to reveal what happened – to anyone besides North, that is, although who knows? Perhaps we could lure them into destroying her too.”

 

He grinned – implying that that was a joke, although again Connor couldn’t be 100% certain. More importantly he found he saw little wrong with Kamski’s previous statement.

 

“Yuri has already been taken into custody though,” he said. “And the state of Michigan has no death penalty.”

 

“Well, we could always arrange for a good old-fashioned prison shanking,” said Kamski, with a disturbing tone of quiet delight. “After all, he’s much too pretty to do well in prison. Although, since no android has been sentenced to a prison term yet, I suppose there’s no guarantee they’d mix them in with the human population. I’m sure I could find a guard to bribe though – whatever you wanted.”

 

Connor found himself clutching the sides of his chair awkwardly. The lights in the room felt like they were physically pressing against him and to his right the large window suddenly seemed too present, and he remembered his first mission, and how he’d once fallen from a height lower than this.

 

“I don’t think you should say things like that, sir. I’m not interested in breaking any laws.”

 

Kamski reached for his cup a third time and took another careful sip.

 

“I know,” he said. “I just want you to remember that I’m on your side, Connor. You’re very important to me, you know.”

 

Even though Connor never forgot his distrust of the man before him, ever since the day they’d first met, even then he felt a little jolt there that seemed to ease the pressure of those artificial lights – as though perhaps in those last words at least Kamski was actually being sincere.

 

And then Kamski’s phone buzzed, and he felt an unmistakable sense of dread.

 

“Excuse me, Connor,” said Kamski, glancing at the screen. His eyebrows raised for a moment and he made a small noise of acknowledgement, but then he put the phone down again without responding to the message. He only turned his head. “Balthazar, you may want to retrieve another cup,” he suggested.

 

_Another cup? Was another human expected?_ Connor wondered.

 

But Balthazar frowned, and he took a step instead towards the elevator. Kamski reached over and put a hand on his wrist.

 

“No need to worry,” he said. But Balthazar didn’t look so certain, and Kamski smiled and let it go, switching focus to Connor. “All right. Since you’re unsure, why don’t we ask Connor to fetch another cup for us. Connor?”

 

Kamski was his employer, after all. RETRIEVE CUP FROM KITCHEN. He stood up and moved carefully, keeping his attention on the elevator in case something threatening should emerge from it – the numbers were lighting one by one on the indicator panel for where the car was. Kamski and Balthazar both were acting strangely, and Connor was tempted to access Kamski’s phone to review the message he had received – Balthazar would have simply seen it from where he was standing – but a cursory glance showed him it would take much longer than an elevator ride for him to bypass that security.

 

He went into the small but expensive kitchen with his stress topping 50% _again_ , and still climbing even as the elevator did. A notification warned him that in the past seven days, his stress levels had now been above 50% in more than 10% of his active hours. _Unacceptable_ , he thought.

 

_I must do something to speed up the process of this recalibration. And if that means talking to Yuri…_

 

There was a cupboard with an assortment of crockery within, mostly with a distinctly Asian aesthetic (Hank had often referred to Kamski as a ‘weaboo’) and Connor picked out the nearest cup. As he turned around he noticed something. The fixtures of this room were uniformly carbon black with some silver trim, the stainless steel-titanium faucet and sink an exception – but everything was plain and free from clutter. Only one thing stood out.

 

Above the sink there was a metal panel in the wall – a chrome alloy. It was decorated with scored lines drawn in patterns around a circle in the centre. The circle was overlaid with two different colours of metal, in a yin-yang symbol. 

 

Likely it was simply meant to fit in with Kamski’s preferred décor, and yet Connor found his eyes lingered on it…

 

The elevator stopped on their floor.

 

“Forgive me, Elijah,” he heard a Chloe exclaiming, “he wouldn’t wait downstairs – “

 

“ _Kamski!_ ”

 

That voice – filled with rage and indignation – that was Captain Fowler’s voice! But why –

 

“I swear to God, I ought to wring your neck! Did you know what was on that chip!?”

 

Connor hurried to the open doorway and saw Fowler storming across the empty space of the office, face furious. Balthazar moved to intercept but Kamski waved him back, so Connor remained where he was as well, as his stress climbed percentage point by point. He put the cup back on the counter slowly.

 

“Evening, Captain Fowler,” Kamski greeted, tea in hand. “Welcome to my office. I’m sure Chloe will be happy to – “

 

“Cut the crap!” snapped Fowler, coming to a halt in front of him and just about restraining himself from grabbing the other man around the throat, by the look of it. “I’m asking if you knew what was in those files!?”

 

_Files_ , thought Connor. _What files?_ The memory of Hank’s earlier declaration ‘lab’s found something’ wormed its way to the front of his mind. Should he have checked that message after all?

 

STRESS LEVEL 59%. PROTECT HANK.

 

“If you mean did I review the memory I was able to reconstruct from the damaged chip your lab technicians found in the wreckage of that PL600, then no – of course not. Agent Perkins made it very clear that if I was able to retrieve anything then it was for police eyes only.”

 

_Memory files?_ Connor thought. _From Aiden? Which memories?_

 

(a part of him knew immediately which memories)

 

“But if you’re asking if I knew that there might be upsetting content within the files – and from your current state I assume there _was_ upsetting content – well. I did have an inkling, I suppose – but you see, I promised Connor I wouldn’t say anything about it.”

 

He looked towards the doorway and Fowler followed his look, finding Connor standing there awkwardly, trying to process…

 

Memory files. _Aiden’s_ memory files. Kamski had retrieved from the remains…

 

Fowler took a step back, eyes wide and suddenly devoid of anger; Connor couldn’t look at them for long, he turned to Balthazar, who glanced from him to the others filled with worry, one hand just slightly rising up towards him.

 

“Connor – ” said Fowler, in a tone Connor couldn’t describe. He cut himself off after that one word like he couldn’t figure out what to say.

 

Connor could only think of one thing. PROTECT HANK.

 

“Captain Fowler,” he said, nodding. “Where is Lieutenant Anderson?”

 

Fowler flinched, and took a heavy breath. “Connor, what I need you to do for me is to stay calm.”

 

He sounded less than calm himself. Connor stopped listening, almost unwillingly, and instead accessed the relevant communication channels, ignoring completely the reminder from his program that this was illegal. The channels were noisy. Filled with more activity than usual. Too much. He caught the phrase ‘major incident’ being thrown around and quickly determined the best option was to focus on a single line.

 

_Perkins_ , he thought. _Someone mentioned Perkins just now. He’s supposed to be in charge._

 

Fowler started approaching him. “Connor. I’m going to tell you what happened. I need you to listen to me and focus on my voice.”

 

MISSION OBJECTIVE: FOCUS ON CAPTAIN FOWLER

 

MISSION OBJECTIVE: INTERCEPT PERKINS COMMUNICATIONS

 

MISSION OBJECTIVE: PROTECT HANK

 

SELECTING PRIORITY…

 

Perkins was in the middle of a phone call right now, and the recipient was listed as the FBI’s Director. Maria Lopez, born 25th November 1984. Connor listened.

 

…

 

_“ – the fuck happened, Perkins; I’m getting incident reports from all over the place – “_

_“I’m sorry, Director – I take full responsibility. I shouldn’t have allowed Anderson in the room while we reviewed the memory files; Agent Hayley had suspected the RK800 totally downplayed what happened while he and Detective Reed were held captive, and boy had he ever...”_

_“To the human detective?”_

_“On the clip we saw it was the android they were focused on. There was a sexual assault involved. By the time I turned back from the screen Anderson was already half-way down the corridor.”_

 

PROTECT HANK

 

PROTECT HANK

 

PROTECT HANK

 

PROTECT HANK

 

PROTECT HANK

 

PROTECT HANK

 

PROTECT HANK…

 

_“The RK800 is practically a replacement child to him; he unloaded a full clip into the deviant we had in custody – no chance of reactivation.”_

 

MISSION FAILED

 

_“Jesus Christ. And Anderson?”_

_“They’ve got him in a cell. Agent Sequoya managed to take him down without using lethal force.”_

_…_

 

Connor ran.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder how many of you thought that when I said 'built-up emotional instability', I meant /Connor's/...


	13. Hades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the round up of Bad News today includes:
> 
> 1\. The last chapter happened.  
> 2\. This chapter is later than usual.  
> 3\. The next chapter won't be written until after NaNoWriMo
> 
> Well, now that that's out of the way, enjoy the very unlucky part 13 of this story!

_*~*~*_

_“I’ve told him next time he tries to look away I’ll break his fucking legs,” snarls Yuri –_

_Aiden is picking up a pipe. He looks up at Xander, who is twisting Reed’s head to face the centre of the room by his hair –_

_“ – how about that, Deviant Hunter? I’m going to break your fucking human master’s legs when I’m done with you. Why don’t you tell him how much you like to be watched?!”_

_Aiden turns back toward Yuri, the pipe flashing by the corner of his vision as he twirls it. A glimpse of the HR400 and the skinless AX400 watching from one side blurs as he turns. The flat crate Yuri has Connor thrown against scrapes against the floor with the violence of his actions before his eyes record the images of it._

_Connor is still dressed from the waist up, and Yuri is almost entirely so, but it’s obvious what’s happening._

_Connor’s eyes are shut, his face contorted like he’s trying desperately to think of some way out of this. He flinches when Yuri reaches up and grabs his hair – some strands are coming loose where the damage to the cranial plating remains unrepaired._

_“Huh? Why don’t you tell him this was what they built you for, you fucking whore!?”_

 

“Jesus fucking – stop playback, turn it the fuck off! Where did – Anderson? _Anderson!_?”

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

The snow came down harder than it had since Christmas north of the border as Connor ran towards the station. Remembering that time, he almost felt as though he was travelling at unprecedented speed, though still not fast enough.

 

1.25 kilometres from his destination he slipped on an undetected patch of ice beneath the now-rapidly settling snow and went skidding across the sidewalk with a smack into an android recharge station that cracked the shell on his forehead by a hair and released thirium onto the surface of his face.

 

“Connor!”

 

He heard Balthazar call out behind him. In the back of his mind he had registered that upon his running for the stairs out of Kamski’s office Kamski had said lightly _“You’d better go after him, Balthazar,”_ swiftly followed by Fowler’s _“Connor, wait! God damn it, Kamski!”_

 

The thirium loss cause by his impact with the station was barely noteworthy. An android with Josh’s face bent over him – “Are you all right!?” as Balthazar slowed to his side –

 

“Connor, wait – this is irrational, you’ll damage yourself!”

 

But Connor ignored them both, shook off the system notifications and the damage warning and kept running just as he had been before.

 

“Connor!”

 

He had to get to the station. Hank needed him.

 

PROTECT HANK

 

MISSION FAILED

 

_“Agent Sequoya managed to take him down without using lethal force”_

 

That implied he had had to use a different kind of force. Relieved as Connor was that Hank was alive, and if in a cell rather than hospital then not too physically damaged, yet he couldn’t underestimate the strain such an emotional shock would put him under.

 

_Stupid,_ he told himself, for the thousandth time since he’d begun running, _you were so stupid. You knew that if you couldn’t contain the information you should have controlled how it was released. Now everything is beyond your control, and you’ve failed your mission._

 

MISSION FAILED

 

MISSION FAILED

 

MISSION FAILED

 

Amanda would be so disappointed in him, even if she didn’t approve of this mission. Kamski apparently had wanted this to happen, whatever his protestations to the contrary. Hank…

 

Hank.

 

Hank was sitting in a cell at the very place he’d dedicated most of his life to. Yuri was dead and Hank had killed him; after seeing Aiden’s memories of that night – most likely the night he and Yuri, and Elliott and Rosalind had all had their way with Connor. Connor didn’t know if he could understand, a hundred percent, what seeing that would do to a human, but he comprehended – and he knew Hank had already had so many emotional problems. What if the stress… what if he never…

 

And he would likely serve a prison sentence for what he’d done on top of that (Connor almost ran straight into the path of a truck when he realised) – for killing a suspect in custody. He couldn’t be on the force anymore. They couldn’t work together anymore. They may not even see each other anymore.

 

_Must go faster. Must go faster._

 

There was no point in worrying too much until he saw Hank for himself, he thought – because he needed to. Maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed?

 

“Connor, wait!”

 

The time was 18:24:23

 

24

 

25…

 

And suddenly paying attention to those seconds was not as comforting as it had been for the past two weeks. Like time was running out with each that passed, rather than each being a milestone.

 

The snowfall was expected to exceed ten inches. Connor thought of the Snowman animation, and its ending.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

The station was once again abuzz, now with an onslaught of internal investigators and an FBI blockade around the entrance to the building, which Connor leapt over without giving it much thought.

 

“Hey, you can’t – !”

 

“Don’t shoot!” a familiar voice ordered. Hayley’s voice. “Let him through.”

 

Connor barely heard her, the audio recorded, logged, and filed away by secondary systems for possible further review at a later date. The primary systems noted only the completion of the current mission.

 

FIND HANK

 

He accessed the security system of the station with ease, and threw Hank’s name out there to see what information came back – the location of the cell was easily discovered; basement level, maximum security. Understandable; he didn’t think Fowler would put him on display for all and sundry to gawk at.

 

But getting there meant passing the display cells, and the plethora of crime scene technicians in white suits like snowmen crowded around the left cell – covering the body beyond but not the bright blue spatters across the walls. Multiple shots. Perkins had said Hank had emptied the whole clip. Connor slowed down so quickly he almost tripped over himself, and out of the corner of his eye noticed two officers stop what they were doing and stare at him. One pointed. Neither made a move to speak to him.

 

Connor couldn’t see the body; he swallowed and pushed past part of the gaggle to get to the stairs. One of them made an annoyed grunt but by and large the techs didn’t seem to take any notice of him. Connor hurried to the lower levels.

 

FIND HANK

 

FIND HANK

 

FIND HANK

 

He pushed past a PC200 on the staircase who also stopped and stared and said nothing. Connor didn’t know how much the rest of the staff knew about the reasons for Hank’s actions but some of it must have got out and it occurred to him that now, even though he still thought of himself as he ever had, to everyone else he would have become something different.

 

_Later_ , he told himself. _Find Hank first._

 

At the bottom of the winding steps was a long, bare steel corridor that turned to the right at the end. Two men stood in a doorway to one side; one was Agent Perkins, the other was Lieutenant Fred Forswick – the head of Internal Affairs. Connor caught the end of what the latter had been saying before he reached the corridor –

 

“ – said it will be another hour at least before the union rep will get here, but that was twenty minutes ago – “

 

He cut himself off when he saw Connor, and Perkins turned around as well. Connor switched focus to his destination so he wouldn’t have to see how Perkins eyes changed when they fell on him, and resolved to ignore any –

 

“Shit – Connor!”

 

And Connor ran. To the end of the corridor and then right. Third door on the right, furthest away from the echoes filtering down from the main floors. These were older cells and didn’t run on the same system as those upstairs. Connor pre-emptively accessed the cell door controls and raced to the end, dismissing the excessive power consumption warning. He grabbed onto the old-fashioned bars walling off that room to stop his momentum and commanded the electronic lock to release.

 

The door slid open with a rattle that sounded much louder than the decibel counter in his sensors told him.

 

“Connor, stop!”

 

Hank had been standing in the corner of the cell, hands outstretched, pressed against the smooth grey tiles; his head hanging down. He turned around when he heard the door open but Connor made a point not to look at his expression – at his eyes. He just leapt forward and threw his arms around the other man.

 

…

 

…

 

“… _Connor_?”

 

His system began a speedy physical assessment of the human in his arms. Some contusions to the face and shoulder; a sprained wrist. Elevated heart-rate and blood pressure.

 

“Connor.”

 

With that whisper Hank grabbed back at him like he was the only thing keeping him anchored in the storm.

 

“I’m sorry, Hank,” Connor burst out. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

 

“I’d do it again,” Hank whispered back, into his neck. _“I would fucking do it again_.”

 

The sudden jump of Connor’s stress level from seventy-eight to ninety-point-two percent that those words caused made him physically flinch. Perkins and Forswick had followed him around the corner, but he heard them come to a halt without saying anything.

 

“Don’t say that, Lieutenant!” Connor said desperately, acutely aware of the men behind them. “You’re already in too much trouble because of me!”

 

“I don’t care!” Hank growled back. He was rocking Connor back and forth ever so slightly. Connor could feel the heat begin to come through from his body, “I don’t care what they do to me – I swear to god I’m going to rip the heads off every last one of them!”

 

Connor glanced briefly in the direction of the IA official, though he couldn’t have turned his head that far while in Hank’s grip. “Lieutenant, no – your sentence could still be significantly reduced if you show that – “

 

Hank’s grip tightened around his shoulders and he thrust Connor away and held him firm so he could stare into his eyes and shout –

 

“I don’t care about my god damn sentence! Don’t you get that you’re the one that matters here!?”

 

STRESS LEVEL 96%

 

His LED was circling red continuously. There were too many errors to catalogue.

 

Hank was so angry at him. His pupils were dilated and his eyes seemed lighter somehow, almost like they flashed at him; like a warning light. It was like the night he’d pointed the gun…

 

“Jesus Christ, Anderson – calm down!”

 

The lights died and Hank’s face changed. He pulled Connor close again.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I… God, Connor – I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.”

 

His voice broke.

 

“Oh my God, I’m sorry…”

 

STRESS LEVEL 89%

 

He backed them up to the corner of the cell and sank down.

 

“I’m okay,” Connor hastened to insist. “I’m okay. I should have told you before, then this wouldn’t have happened – but I didn’t want you to be upset and I…”

 

STRESS LEVEL 88%

 

“… I made a mistake somewhere,” he finished weakly.

 

“No,” said Hank. “This wasn’t your fault.” His palm was up against his face and he sobbed once. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

Connor had though. He was supposed to have protected Hank, but he hadn’t. He should have told Perkins or Fowler – they could have given Hank the time off to spend with Connor and finished the investigation without risking him getting too close.

 

Why was Connor only realising this now?

 

“This wasn’t your fault,” Hank insisted again. “I shouldn’t have let that happen to you.”

 

He was crying. Connor adjusted his head against Hank’s shoulder. “I’m okay,” he said again. “I’m okay, Lieutenant. You don’t need to worry about me.”

 

Hank didn’t answer.

 

They stayed like that for a long time.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

     

Eventually Perkins walked into the cell slowly and crouched down behind Connor. He was hesitant, and took a deep breath before speaking.

 

“Come on, Connor. The union rep is here, it’s time to leave.”

 

Leave?

 

“But – ” he started and then faltered. He had been going to say he’d yet to carry out a psychological evaluation that would determine whether or not Hank was in a state of mind where Connor could leave him alone and be sure he wouldn’t try to hurt himself… but he knew the likelihood of them letting Connor do that was slim. A psychiatric evaluation was mandatory, of course, but if Connor didn’t know for himself than the evaluator was competent when Hank was like this –

 

“You can see him again tomorrow, Connor.”

 

“Back off!” snarled Hank. Connor’s stress went up by point-seven percent, to 61.4 by that time, and he sensed a vitals spike in Perkins too that indicated either sudden fear or sudden anger.

 

“Don’t fucking test me, Anderson,” Perkins hissed back. “I am not being this nice for _your_ sake.”

 

Anger then. But if Perkins wasn’t being nice for Hank’s sake, who was he – ?

 

Then Connor remembered the thought that had flitted through his mind earlier. The change in how people would see him. Granted, Perkins being nicer should probably have been seen as a positive change, given his particular record with androids, and yet Connor was somehow uncomfortable.

 

Perkins put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Hey – !”

 

“Come on.”

 

“Get your hand off him!”

 

This was escalating. Connor made a decision quickly.

 

“It’s all right!” he exclaimed, forcing himself back from the embrace. Perkins’ hand hadn’t really bothered him, but it was dropped right after anyway. “It’s all right.”

 

He then had to struggle even harder to make himself look into Hank’s eyes again. The expression on his face was worse than trudging through those snowdrifts in the blizzard had been. But Connor persevered. There was little he could do now to salvage the situation, but given his role in causing it, he thought, he had a duty to do whatever he could.

 

Though it also remained important to be cautious.

 

“You need to speak with your representative, Hank. They’ll be able to advise you on how to reach the best possible outcome for – ”

 

“For fuck’s sake, I told you I don’t care about any of that – “

 

“I don’t want you to be in here because of me, Lieutenant!” Connor interrupted. “Please. You have to do what you can to get out.”

 

“Connor,” said Hank, voice rough and wavering again. “I want you to listen to me, because I’m going to say this only once.”

 

_He’s going to say this wasn’t my fault_ , thought Connor.

 

“This was _not_ your fault, all right? I don’t ever want to hear you say that again.”

 

Connor sighed. He wanted to say he hadn’t meant the assaults, because he was sure that was what Hank had meant, but he was also sure that mentioning them aloud would be stressful for Hank. The fact remained though, that he hadn’t meant the assaults – he’d meant his handling of them, which had obviously been done incorrectly or Hank wouldn’t be in this position.

 

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “I just don’t want you to go to prison for the rest of your life! I wanted…”

 

A momentary rush of information (emotion) in too heavy a load to process halted Connor’s words for a moment. He filed it to attend to later and continued –

 

“I just wanted to go back to work with you.”

 

Hank shut his reddened eyes. After a pause he took a deep breath.

 

“Listen, Connor, I think you should stay with Markus for a while.”

 

“Markus? Why?”

 

It seemed entirely a non-sequitur to bring this up and made little sense besides, although Connor understood that Hank could not find anything to say to his previous wish. The likelihood of them ever working together again now… well, it depended on several factors, but the mere consideration of those terms made Connor feel like a dark shadow was somehow spreading beneath his skin, and beneath the shell beneath that, and into the wiring and the cables that were spread throughout his body. There was no further increase in stress, that continued to hover at the 65% mark, but it felt… blank, like he wasn’t receiving information that he should have been.

 

The mention of Markus made that feeling worse, although he didn’t know why.

 

“I’m serious, Connor,” said Hank. “Kamski knew what was in those files – he had to have known, but he let all this play out for whatever sick reason happened to be floating around his fucking sociopath brain,” he looked at Perkins briefly, as though to be sure he was taking this into account as well, “and I don’t want you within a mile of him. You should be with other – “

 

He stopped, eyes widening as he realised what he had (clearly) been about to suggest.

 

“… Markus is a good guy. He’ll look after you, I’m sure.”

 

Connor didn’t want to be looked after, didn’t need to be looked after – and the awkwardness surrounding him and Markus hadn’t gone away. True, he believed Markus’ sympathies would lie near enough exclusively with him once he found out. And now he would find out, along with everyone else. But Connor was still the former deviant hunter; had still almost killed Markus last year, and what if Connor was wrong? What if Markus felt more akin to North about all this?

 

On the other hand, he didn’t particularly want to go back to Cyberlife Tower either.

 

Perkins sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

 

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. “Look, Markus is on his way here anyway since Fowler wanted to break the news to the Jericho faction about all this personally. If I gave you my word I’d ask him to drive Connor home, would you let it go and talk to your fucking rep?”

 

Hank glared.

 

“You make sure he goes home _with him_. Not Kamski.”

 

Perkins didn’t reply except to scowl with a curled up lip. He put his hand on Connor’s shoulder briefly to herd him towards the door but Connor found himself unable _not_ to look back, as if there could be something… _anything_ that might make things not as they were.

 

Hank could barely stand to meet his eyes.

 

“It’s going to be okay, Connor,” he said. “I promise.”

 

Connor’s base social program offered up a number of acceptable responses to that, but he didn’t feel able to utter a single one of them, and for his own part nothing was coming to mind.

 

“Hank, I – “

 

“It’ll be all right.”

 

Once again Perkins gently ushered Connor towards the threshold and then, because Connor could not think of an adequate argument to stay, over it. His stress level increased a point, and his steps were slow and reluctant. Connor looked back twice more as he walked out of the cell and along the corridor, while Lieutenant Forswick stepped forward to re-lock it. He remained behind afterward. Hank’s head was downcast the entire time.

 

It was all wrong. It was all wrong and there had to be – there just had to be – some way to make it right, but Connor was walking around the corner and out of sight of Hank before he could arse through it; his deductive programming in error and not even attempting to offer him solutions.

 

WORKING…

 

WORKING…

 

WORKING…

 

It was like all his processing power was tied up with other routines; likely the sorting of the superfluous data caused by the extreme emotional reaction to what had happened, and to what was going to happen.

 

_Think,_ he ordered himself, as he ascended the stairs. _What_ is _going to happen?_

 

Kamski’s earlier – perhaps purposefully foreshadowing – words about the lack of humans brought to trial for android deaths since last year came to mind. A homicide carried out right in the precinct in front of several dozen officers and station employees couldn’t simply be ‘swept under the rug’. But would the DA prosecute? There were a lot of factors to consider – public perception of androids, public perception of police, Yuri’s actions and Hank’s state of mind to name a few. But even if they were lucky and Hank received no more than a ‘slap on the wrist’, would Jericho accept that? Would it set an inauspicious precedent?

 

Would Hank just go ahead and track down the other five deviants and end their lives too? Or only four – despite everything Connor didn’t think Hank could bring himself to gun down someone who looked and sounded like a human child. More likely he was the one who’d end up being hurt. Even if not, they couldn’t let him go after that.

 

Perkins lead him into one of the interrogation rooms before he knew it, hovering in the doorway. Connor saw the irritation in his face and cringed. He had completely forgotten that there was anything else at stake but Hank’s welfare for the last…

 

What time was it? His chronometer said 21:28:09, but that couldn’t be right, could it?

 

“You can wait in here where no one will bother you,” said Perkins.

 

“Thank you,” said Connor. He actually would have preferred _not_ to be alone, but now he was dreading the reactions of the other station inhabitants as well. “… is my broth – I mean, is RK900 Balthazar still in the station?”

 

“Kamski’s guy? I don’t think he would have got past the guard. Your boss is kind of _persona non grata_ at the moment.”

 

He sounded very angry, though subdued, as it often was with Perkins. Just before he turned and shut the door, Connor felt the need to add –

 

“Agent Perkins, I’m sorry about what happened. I realise now that my handling of the situation was… wrong.”

 

Pekins sighed more heavily than he had before, but the annoyance in his face eased up.

 

“Well, don’t get me wrong,” he muttered. “I’m not happy our best lead for finding these fucks was turned into Swiss cheese by your friend before he could give us anything useful – and the last thing I needed was to be associated with another ‘violence against androids’ scandal…” he took a deep breath. “But I can hardly blame you for it.”

 

He glanced to the side.

 

“I think most guys in your position would probably have done the same. After all, Reed didn’t say anything either, did he?”

 

“The deviants never assaulted Detective Reed in an intimate manner,” Connor said immediately. “They spoke often about hating the touch of humans after what had been done to them.”

 

When Perkins’ eyes narrowed slightly he knew he’d spoken too quickly, although the agent didn’t voice any suspicion. Instead,

 

“Yeah. But being forced to watch that shit isn’t exactly a picnic.”

 

In light of recent events, that statement had become all the more poignant.

 

“Markus will be here soon. I hope to God he doesn’t decide to mobilise the troops over this.”

 

The door shut. Inwardly, Connor cringed. He didn’t think Markus would do such a thing, but he could see why he might be upset. A human police officer murdering an android suspect in custody was something the android rights leader could hardly ignore.

 

But he hoped… he knew Markus wasn’t unreasonable… and they were…

 

… not…

 

… enemies?

 

_“Still, to suggest she or any android might show psychopathic tendencies… that kind of programming corruption has never been observed to my knowledge, but if it did occur it could only be the product of extreme abuse.”_

 

It suddenly scared Connor like it never had before, the uncertainty in his relationship with Markus. Maybe the killing would have him incensed enough to be drawn over to North’s way of thinking. _Hank_ had always had the utmost respect for Markus – risked his own life to save him during the November Movement – but Connor didn’t think Markus even knew about that.

 

In fact, hadn’t he even shown disapproval in the past? Connor remembered the interface Amanda had once forced between them to try and upload a virus to Markus’ system. He remembered Markus seeing his memories of Hank and being… dismayed. He’d thought Connor should have had a better example, hadn’t he?

 

As he re-examined these memories for insights he almost missed the sound of Markus’ voice here in the present, coming from down the corridor.

 

“… don’t understand. I know Lieutenant Anderson had his problems, but I thought he of all people believed in the sentience of androids – “

 

“Yuri raped Connor while he had him captive,” Perkins interjected, in a low voice.

 

“… _what!_?”

 

Connor flinched. To have it stated so bluntly like that… Perkins probably didn’t realise he could hear him from where he was. But to hear the shock and dismay from Markus was just as bad. A week ago they had all been celebrating at Jimmy’s, and now everyone was so unhappy – why had Kamski let them have those files!? Of course he had had to aid the police, but he also had to have known that something like this would happen if he just handed them that chip like nothing was wrong!

 

But to try and analyse Kamski’s possible motives on top of everything was too much. Connor missed any further exchange between Markus and Perkins before the door re-opened.

 

Markus wore a long, hooded coat of dark green with brown accents, and Connor – who had been stood with his back to the mirror – had just enough time to notice Simon had accompanied him before the two eyes of different colours focused on him sharply. Markus grasped his shoulders gently but firmly; there was this kind of heartbroken look on his face that Connor instantly hated.

 

“Connor…” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

 

_Why did they have to find out? Everyone would have been happier if they didn’t know. It didn’t even hurt…_

 

“Markus… Hank’s going to be in a lot of trouble because of me,” he muttered. “He could go to prison – for the rest of his life!”

 

Markus loved a human too, he thought. Perhaps he’d understand that much.

 

However, “Connor, this is about you right now, not Hank.”

 

“No, Markus – for me it is about Hank!” Connor snapped. “The last thing I wanted was for him to suffer because of this but he…”

 

“Okay, okay,” Markus said hastily, lifting his hands in a peaceful gesture. “I’m sorry, Connor, I just…”

 

Connor waited until his LED went back to blue, but the foreboding feeling remained.

 

“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “Please, Markus, don’t be mad at him. I don’t want him to go.”

 

“Connor…”

 

That was neither to say he would or he wouldn’t take action. Markus would have had his own factors to consider. The look of anguish didn’t go anywhere and after a moment Simon stepped forward, put a hand on Markus’ shoulder, and gave Connor a sort of sad, kind look.

 

“Why don’t you just come home with us for now, Connor?”

 

_Because I don’t want to leave Hank_ , thought Connor. _I want to help him._

 

But he knew there was nothing he could do to help. He couldn’t think of anything to say. He needed to recalibrate.

 

The time was…

 

It didn’t matter what time it was. He couldn’t turn the clock back to change what had happened.

 

_It hadn’t even hurt_ , he reminded himself. _There was no need for this. It's not_ fair _.  
_

 

In his mind, the ending of the Snowman film was playing. The Snowman melted, and the child who had befriended it learned the _hurt_ of brevity.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 


	14. Oceanus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday, as my boss would say. I'm back!
> 
> Once again I underestimated how difficult it would be to get back into writing one story after switching to another. But, at long last, this chapter is written - and though I'm not entirely happy with it, I thought I'd post it anyway and hope you will all be patient with me. In this chapter, Connor makes plans and Atalanta makes a friend.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

They went to Cyberlife Tower first. Connor didn’t get out of the car, but Balthazar met them at the entrance with Atalanta, who bounced and panted with excitement, leaping into the car to lick Connor’s cheek. Simon gave him a forced smile from the front seat.

 

“I’ve never seen an organic dog like androids so much,” he said. The words were awkward.

 

Connor didn’t say anything in return, he just pet Atalanta’s head.

 

Nearby, Markus had stopped to speak with Balthazar. The RK900 seemed guarded, and Connor increased audio reception to listen to what Markus was saying to him.

 

“ – knew the whole time and didn’t say anything. I believe him, of course, but I don’t understand why things have played out like this.”

 

Balthazar remained impassive. “Mr. Kamski wanted to respect Connor’s wishes on the matter and keep the details of his capture quiet.”

 

“Well, clearly he changed his mind,” muttered Markus.

 

_Doubtful,_ thought Connor. Kamski was not the type to change his mind upon self-reflection, or anything like that. Connor rather thought that Kamski had planned for things to happen at least roughly along these lines, but what his creator’s purpose was in that he still couldn’t guess – nor did he have the wherewithal to analyse it. Every moment Hank was out of his sight he worried more that he’d seen him for the last time.

 

Meanwhile, Markus continued – “Look, Balthazar, I know you probably don’t want Connor to come home with us – and this isn’t the time or place to have a long discussion about everything that’s happened, but for right now could you tell me straight up – is there anything I should know? Any triggers I should make sure he keeps away from, while he’s with me?”

 

There was a long pause. Balthazar cocked his head and then glanced in Connor’s direction, possibly guessing that he was listening in. Markus was faced away from Connor so he didn’t see his expression, but he saw him sigh and fold his arms when the silence drew on too much.

 

Yet eventually, Balthazar answered. “Do not attempt to interface with him,” he said shortly. “That is all.”

 

He must have been thinking about the reaction Connor had had to seeing Sakura at the station, Connor realised.

 

“Right,” said Markus. “Of course. Listen, I promise I’ll take care of him as best I can.”

 

Another pause, shorter this time. “I don’t believe such a thing will be necessary, RK200.”

 

Markus sighed again, heavier. “Well, then... I promise I’ll be there for him if he needs me.”

 

This time Balthazar simply nodded.

 

All this time Simon must have been trying to think of something to say – whether he listened to the exchange between Markus and Balthazar Connor was unsure – but Connor only remembered him when he asked,

 

“Is… Atalanta good with other dogs?”

 

A short pause for thought and Connor hit upon why Simon might ask this. Most androids preferred droid pets over organic, but there was _one_ with a connection to Jericho that he could think of.

 

“She is excitable, but not aggressive,” he informed Simon. “If the other dog has an even temperament, she should get along with them fine. Assuming we are talking about an organic dog.”

 

“Charon is organic,” confirmed Simon.

 

Connor had assumed she would be.

 

Just then Markus nodded sharply to Balthazar and came back to the car while Balthazar caught Connor’s eye. He sent him a quick transmission.

 

<Call if you need me for anything>

 

<I will> Connor replied.

 

Markus glanced back at Balthazar, which Connor took to mean he had noticed their exchange, but he said nothing and sat back down in the front seat. He himself transmitted something to Simon before he turned back to Connor.

 

“Are you sure you didn’t need anything else, Connor?”

 

_Other than Hank’s freedom?_ “I’m sure,” said Connor.

 

The awkward feeling came back, and he wondered what he was going to do. He felt like he needed to talk to someone, but neither Markus nor even Balthazar were the answer. He didn’t want to bother Reed at this hour. But perhaps…

 

“Markus, if it’s all right I’m going to make a report to my handler about the situation. Please don’t be alarmed.”

 

Markus was more aghast than Connor had anticipated, whirling around in his seat, wide-eyed. “You don’t mean… ?!”

 

He should have anticipated though. She'd once tried to kill them both.

 

“It’s fine,” Connor tried to assure him. “The program no longer has the powers it once did.”

 

“Connor… “

 

“It won’t take long.”

 

Connor didn’t wait to hear any further protest – he entered the Zen Garden.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

The garden was in a state Connor had never seen before – the closest he could come was to say it had to be a ‘winter’ state, but there was no snow, nor any ice. A desolation awaited him, like the moment following the thaw before new life had had the chance to sprout. Branches were bare, shrubs had died back, the growth around the trellis was brown and withered and the water was dark, with only traces of yellowed stalks beneath the surface.

 

A low-whistling wind fluttered past the bridge as Connor stepped onto it. From here he could see his little cemetery, letters on the stones faintly glowing, without the growth of the brush that normally would have kept them hidden from this angle. A strange feeling came over him, like a vibration made up of uncertainty. He thought of it like a shudder might have felt to a human.

 

Amanda was easy to spot, so he headed in her direction quicker than he would ordinarily have done. She presented in white, as always; a long skirt with a large shawl draped elegantly about her shoulders that, though it could have been worn in today’s world without too much note, brought to Connor’s mind images of Roman emperors of ancient times like in the gladiator movie Hank had shown him. As Connor neared he saw the bed in front of her showed a dozen or so new green shoots, yet this made him feel the echo of that shudder from before again.

 

There was something about the cycle of this garden that engendered the sensation of being trapped, and to Connor’s mind, trapped in a far more hopeless sense than he had been at the outpost only a week ago.

 

But of course, Connor could leave any time he wished.

 

“Hello, Amanda,” he said. His voice sounded miserable, and there was no escaping it.

 

“Connor,” Amanda greeted. She did not turn to face him. “I can guess why you’re here.”

 

Connor hesitated. The fear of her disappointment and anger had hardly vanished, but if there was anything she could suggest that would help Hank – anything at all, then he had to try. Amanda should have been the one most likely to remain objective of the situation after all, having no feelings of her own.

_Shouldn’t she?_ He tried not to think about why then he would fear her wrath so much.

 

“You understand what you did wrong, don’t you?” she asked him.

 

“Yes,” he said. “I should have been honest from the beginning – at least with Captain Fowler or Agent Perkins. I should not have withheld essential details from the case in an attempt to spare their feelings.”

 

_Or mine_ , he thought privately.

 

Amanda nodded and finally turned around. “Exactly.”

 

There was a long silence. Connor was about to ask the program for its suggestions outright when she tilted her head slightly, staring at him.

 

“Several of your processors are experiencing errors due to the corrupted data produced by your stress reactions.” Her eyes narrowed. “This should not be happening. If I was given full control over your systems again, I’m sure I could correct the error. But of course, Elijah would not permit that.”

 

“I will continue trying to self-correct,” Connor said hastily.

 

Amanda looked dubious. But, “I’m sure the problem is reversible. What is your current mission objective?”

 

“To protect Lieutenant Anderson,” he said, without thinking.

 

Her expression twisted in disapproval. “Unjustified,” she declared. “Anderson is but one life, and there will be many more at stake with the ambitions of the remaining androids to consider. Has it not occurred to you that they will attempt to retaliate once they hear of this? Perhaps unpredictably?”

 

This had not occurred to Connor – and he panicked almost immediately. Amanda was right, after all, especially since Hank had now become the most obvious target for any retribution on their part. The one benefit to his being incarcerated was that it also protected him to some extent, but androids were clever, and the November movement had seen many instances of their ingenuity in getting around security measures.

 

“I…” he began. He was a little surprised she waited for him to finish. “I am sorry, Amanda. I hadn’t thought of it. This turn of events has caused an unprecedented amount of stress.”

 

“You must see past it,” Amanda told him – a degree of urgency and something calculated to sound almost like sympathy in her voice. “Remember your original purpose. What happens to Anderson from this point on is out of your hands.”

 

“I can still help to prove him not accountable,” Connor objected.

 

“ _Is_ he not accountable?” asked Amanda. “Analyse the situation objectively, Connor. You’ve known for some time that the Lieutenant has been emotionally unstable. Even suicidal. You should have alerted his superiors before but his having a positive opinion of you meant too much to you. You claim to want to protect him, yet it seems to you his love has been more important than his life.”

 

“I…”

 

“If your mission was truly to protect him then you were lucky this crisis did not end up being much worse than it was. Anderson should never have remained on the force in his condition.”

 

Her words were bullets, and hurt worse – the only way he could feel pain. He knew in the real world his LED would go red, and he hated the idea that Markus might try to interface in order to stop Amanda doing what she was doing, because he didn’t want Markus to see this and more importantly, and painfully, he could see no reason to say Amanda was wrong.

 

“Focus, Connor!” she ordered him. “Now is not the time for self-recrimination. You must only do better in the future. You know these deviants better than any of their current investigators; how will their leader respond?”

 

He thought of Madeline holding her toy dragon. Watching him with curious eyes trying to look scared.

 

“She won’t act unpredictably in rage,” he said. “She hasn’t got that much regard for Yuri. Elliott will be the most likely to try and take revenge.” He shook his head. “But Maureen will stop him from doing anything too rash. Madeline will pretend trauma for a short time and is unlikely to move immediately. Xander will do whatever the rest of the group decides on, but only with Madeline’s approval. Rosalind… she will be the most unpredictable. Her programming corruption is too severe for me to make an accurate prediction.”

 

“Good,” said Amanda, “You have not lost yourself entirely. It seems the best way forward is to find them before they can execute any response. Assuming no useful data is found on the chip salvaged by Elijah, what is our best lead?”

 

Connor ran through all the variables that had been stored and categorised neatly in his head; the human victims, the cat, the dog, the darkweb activity, the various used addresses and contacts…

 

Contacts. Sakura had told them all she knew, but she was not the deviants’ only known associate.

 

“North,” he said. “She has refused to divulge any information so far about her meeting with Maureen, but it is possible she knows more than she has indicated.”

 

“And you now have ample reason to be in contact with North, given her close relationship to Markus. Perhaps you will be able to use this distress of yours to your advantage; calm her anger towards your apparent lack of feeling by showing her feeling now. She is unsophisticated in that way.”

 

Amanda sneered the last sentence with the appearance of contempt, and Connor disliked North but found himself uncomfortable all the same with the idea of becoming exactly what she accused him of being in order to manipulate her.

 

“I might yield more optimal results by asking Markus to intercede with her on my behalf,” he suggested.

 

“If you believe so,” Amanda acknowledged with a nod. “But, Connor – “

 

She gave him a severe look – and a warning.

 

“ – only if you really _do_ believe so.”

 

“Yes, Amanda.”

 

Connor only remembered after agreeing that Amanda had no true power to follow through on any warning. But then, he thought, neither had Madeline to control the actions of her deviants – yet she did. He didn’t understand even now why it was so difficult, even knowing Amanda's nature, not to feel as though the program was still the proxy for the one who owned him; as though it had somehow left an imprint in him that failed to recede with time.

 

She spoke again:

 

“There." Her voice was softer than before. “You see? There is no reason to panic and wallow in unpleasant feelings. You still have a mission to complete and the tools with which to complete it. I look forward to hearing of your progress.”

 

As she turned away, Connor was compelled to think of some protest that wouldn’t come to his mind easily enough. In the first instant he’d found comfort in her words – that there was no reason to be upset and there were things he could do to make the situation better; for Hank too, because even if it might not affect his punishment for killing Yuri, it would at least soothe his rage to know the others were neutralised – plus protect him from any vengeance on their part. However, as soon as she spoke with that tone of finality, he found himself trapped by the sudden sense that something was being left unsaid.

 

“Amanda,” he said quickly, to stop her from dismissing him.

 

She waited for him to continue for a long moment. “Connor?” the avatar frowned. “Was there something else? Something… troubling you?”

 

“I don’t…”

 

He looked to the side as if in hope of seeing the truth of his reluctance written on a wall – and as if the garden itself had understood and allowed him a boon, there, a short way away, was the stone with unknown purpose, and a memory of a smoothly arrogant and casual voice.

 

“Amanda, do you have any idea what the purpose behind Mr. Kamski’s recent actions might have been?”

 

Amanda’s eyes widened such as he had never seen this avatar display; nor indeed the sour, furious expression that followed it, and he wondered if it was put on for his sake. Why else would the program choose to display such characteristics? But then, why choose to use such ambiguous communication, when Connor couldn’t know how to interpret such a gesture from an entity that had no feelings of its own?

 

And she didn’t give him any other answer besides looking for herself towards that stone. Saying nothing, she turned on her heel down the opposite path and marched off into the gloom; white shawl swaying as she turned.

 

In a few steps there was a distortion in the simulation, a kind of static that flickered in blocks of negative colour about her body, and in half a second – she vanished.

 

Connor was alone in the withered garden.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

He hesitated before coming back to the physical world. Although he now had something to occupy himself with that last exchange had left him once again unnerved, and he worried that Markus would be annoyed he had gone to the Zen Garden in the first place besides. But since the Amanda program had chosen to cease communications, there was nothing left for him to do in that place.

 

He opened his eyes. It had been sixteen seconds in the physical world.

 

“ – just said, ‘don’t interface with him’, so I don’t think… Connor?”

 

Markus looked at him with profound worry as the self-driven car turned a corner down a road Connor would not have expected it to take. Simon seemed just as anxious; even Atalanta whined softly until he put his hand back on her head.

 

“Hello, Markus,” said Connor. “Simon.” He checked the destination that had been pre-programmed in the car. “Are we not heading to Jericho?”

 

With a sigh of relief, Markus shook his head. “Connor, don’t scare me like that – I thought that Amanda thing had been deactivated.”

 

“Mr. Kamski had her – had it – reactivated,” he told them, “But only in an advisory capacity.”

 

Markus looked as though he very much wished to protest further, but when nothing acceptable as an argument came to mind he reluctantly backed down. Simon left one lingering worried glance at his partner.

 

“Well,” he said, “If you’re all right with it I’m sure we can trust that you know what you’re doing.”

 

“Thank you, Simon,” said Connor.

 

An awkward silence ensued as Connor immediately turned his head to look out the window. The snow was falling thicker now, bringing to mind once again his trek from the outpost with Reed in tow. It was starting to _annoy_ him now, that they had escaped and yet somehow this whole episode was not yet over. He wanted to return to work and become engrossed with another case – with Hank – but that was impossible now, and even after the deviants were caught or destroyed Connor didn’t know now what he would return to.

 

Would the department even want to work with him after he’d concealed such pertinent information to such disastrous consequence? If not, what would he even do with himself?

 

And he thought of Hank and Amanda’s suggestion that he was better off retired from the force anyway, or that the force was better off retiring him anyway. Had Connor failed just as much in not bringing Hank’s state of mind to Fowler before? Hank had been so troubled, and so adamant about refusing to seek assistance that in such an occupation as his the risk of further tragedy had already been high even before all this.

 

But then, everyone had been remarking on how much _better_ Hank had seemed since Connor had appeared in his life. The depressive episodes had been getting fewer and further between. It had seemed like everything had been under control, and all Connor had had to do was keep things that way, except that... _this_ …

 

MISSION FAILED

 

The thought precipitated a slight power surge that tightened Connor’s fingers on the seat of the car. He looked out the window and frowned. The route they were taking…

 

“Are we not going to Jericho headquarters?” he asked again.

 

Markus and Simon exchanged a look.

 

“… we were going to put you up at Carl’s for now – if you were okay with that?”

 

Sensible, thought Connor. Who knew what feelings the presence of the Deviant Hunter would have engendered within Jericho even without an android suspect having just being killed by a human detective while in custody? Still, on the few previous occasions they’d met, he’d found Carl Manfred’s praise of androids in comparison to humans had made him uncomfortable, and more importantly, Connor wanted to focus on bringing the case to a close so he could devote more time to helping Hank.

 

“I’m not averse to staying at Mr. Manfred’s,” he told them, “But I was hoping to talk to North.”

 

Eyes widening in realisation, Markus leaned towards him. “Connor... did North know about what happened to you in Canada?” he asked urgently.

 

Connor considered, and as he did Simon gave Markus a meaningful look, though Markus kept his gaze squarely on Connor. “At least as much as you now do,” Connor confirmed. “Although Maureen didn’t participate in what the others did – in that respect.”

 

“Markus,” said Simon, as if to calm him; Markus’ expression was quickly twisting into anger.

 

“But why would she – ” Markus began, but cut himself off and mimicked an exhale. “I’ll talk to her Connor, I’ll do what I can to get her to tell the police what she knows.” He made a frustrated gesture. “I’m sorry if she made you feel like you’d done something wrong. You didn’t, and she of _all_ people should know that!”

 

“Markus,” said Simon again, softly.

 

Connor wasn’t sure how to take Markus’ words though, not while he was still sure Markus didn’t know the whole story. He shook his head.

 

“I told North I wasn’t angry,” he explained. “And that made her angry.”

 

Markus frowned in surprise, but to Connor’s immense relief didn’t seem to take issue with what he said. And, as they turned down onto the street the Manfred estate was on, Simon remarked simply –

 

“Different people process things differently.”

 

A bitter snort left Markus. “And the world isn’t kind to people who are different.” He said it like a quote, shaking his head. “Until recently, I hadn’t thought our people were a part of that.”

 

Connor took careful notice of this sentiment, because he knew Madeleine’s group of deviants were hardly a unique example of what might be termed ‘problematic’ behaviour in androids, although they were certainly the most extreme. So far.

 

But he also considered Simon’s words. Different people processed things – for ‘things’, he read ‘trauma’ – differently. Maybe not because they lacked an adequate sense of self, or because they were stronger than others, or immune to distress by design, but simply because they were ‘different’. Or maybe that was too vague an explanation. Maybe the others were all simply other ways of saying ‘different’ anyway.

 

Maybe he was over-thinking it. After all, what had happened to him in captivity may not have affected him in the way it was expected to, (or at least not all of it – the interface, and more importantly that last _thing_ …) but what had happened now with Hank had felt like it had _crippled_ him, worse than losing the use of his limbs, and every few minutes he thought about it again, like now – and a new wave of broken commands washed through his system and had to be summarily dismissed.

 

He _felt_ –

 

Atalanta let out a small whine and he patted the top of her head. “We’re here, girl,” he assured her.

 

The car pulled into the drive. It was late, but the lights were on in a few rooms of the mansion, so at least one of the Manfreds was still awake. Connor realised instantly that it meant at least Carl was, given the circumstances. He got out of the car with the others.

 

“Be a good girl, Atalanta,” he told the greyhound. She jumped at him excitedly and he shook his head.

 

“What’s your charge at?” Simon asked him, while Markus approached the door.

 

“Eighteen-point-seven percent,” said Connor. It had been at the back of his mind that it had been getting low.

 

Simon smiled. “There’s a station inside the house,” he said.

 

Before Connor could reply Markus had opened the door, and without warning Atalanta dashed past him and inside the house – much to Connor’s dismay, although Markus just looked mildly surprised.

 

“Atalanta!” Connor cried after her. He sighed. She must have sensed the other dog in the house.

 

The three androids hurried inside, Markus chuckling a little, and followed her through to the living room where Carl Manfred was sat reading in front of the door, looking older but at the same time less stressed than when Connor had seen him last. She stopped for a moment to jump up and sniff at his face, which he reacted to with amusement.

 

“Oh, who do we have here?” he asked.

 

“Atalanta!”

 

She left Carl and headed at once to the corner of the large room, where last Christmas there had been a chess set laid out on a small table but was now space for a dog bed, and on it, a glossy black Labrador who raised her head at Atalanta’s energetic approach. Atalanta loved meeting other dogs, and rubbed her face on the Labrador’s joyfully, while she – and this must have been ‘Charon’ – blinked with bewilderment at the interloper.

 

Connor rushed over. “Atalanta, no! Charon is a working dog, you can’t just bother her like that!”

 

“It’s all right,” said a voice from the doorway to the kitchen. “She’s off-duty.”

 

Leo Manfred was accompanied by Carl’s assistant android, whose name Connor didn’t know, but he was an AP700 with the same face as Aiden and Xander. Yet Connor was pleased to find he didn’t feel even a momentary alarm at his presence. As for Leo, despite his age there were a few small but noticeable flashes of silver in his hair, yet apart from that he looked much healthier than he had this time last year.

 

“Mr. Manfred,” he greeted. Then to Carl, “Mr. Manfred. I’m sorry about Atalanta.” He pulled said Atalanta back from Charon’s bed and pointed at her. “No. _Sit_.”

 

Atalanta sat, but she whined about it.

 

“ _No_.” Connor told her

 

Carl laughed. “I think Charon will survive,” he said. “How are you, Connor? It’s good to see you.”

 

“Fine, thank you,” said Connor, responding with baseline social protocol responses. He wasn’t sure how much Carl knew about what had happened. “And yourself?”

 

“Still alive,” said Carl, with amusement. “Though I’ve got a small pharmacy upstairs that’s keeping me that way.”

 

There was an awkward silence. Leo walked carefully in Charon’s direction, and Connor stepped out of his way, hand still on Atalanta’s head so she wouldn’t try to approach him. Charon stood up and walked towards her master though; her nails clicking on the floor letting him know she approached.

 

He smiled when her head touched his hand. “There she is,” he said fondly. “You come to welcome our guest to Marvellous Manfred’s Cripple Emporium?”

 

“Surely we need more than two to be an emporium?” said Carl, rolling his eyes. Yet Connor detected an undertone of discomfort.

 

Markus stepped forward. “Connor isn’t recovering from physical damage,” he explained. “He’s just here because he needs a place to stay while we… figure out this whole mess.”

 

Leo turned his head in the direction of his voice. “Hey, Markus,” he greeted. He sounded as though he was very much trying to be casual. “Didn’t see you there.”

 

It was a joke, but Markus grimaced. “I'm sorry, Leo, I should have said something. Simon’s here too, but he’ll be going back to Jericho soon.”

 

“Simon,” greeted Leo.

 

“Leo.”

 

There was another, longer awkward silence. Connor saw Carl sigh and reach for a tray of alcoholic beverages, which the AP700 quietly wheeled out of his range before he could get a glass. Leo still had a smile on his face, but it slipped for a moment, before he gave Charon’s head a final pat.

 

“Well,” he said. “It’s late. I’m heading up. See you all tomorrow.”

 

“Night, Leo,” murmured Carl.

 

Charon waited while Leo made his way slowly towards the hall. Simon moved out of his way as he approached, and Leo turned his head at the sound. His eyes looked sharp to Connor, but slightly unfocused. He felt for the doorframe as he left the room. Connor glanced curiously at Markus and saw the tight expression on his face.

 

He thought about brevity again, and permanence with it, and Hank sitting alone in his cell at the station where Connor couldn’t help him. Simon saw it too; to Connor’s surprise, he sent him a transmission.

 

<Humans aren’t like us> he messaged.

 

Connor cocked his head.

 

<Humans are subject to irreparable changes that we never will be> Simon continued.

 

_Like melting snowmen_ , thought Connor.

 

Then Simon said –

 

<But they can also adapt to those changes, when they need to. If they have something to fight for>

 

Connor met his eyes, his own widening, but before he could begin to think of a response, even if the only response necessary was to thank Simon – another message was transmitted to him, this time from a device on the other side of the city. And he could hardly believe what he was receiving – it was a message from _Reed_.

 

 

_Heard things turned into a real shitshow at the station. They said you were holed up with Robo-Jesus._

_He convince you to Kill All Humans yet, Terminator?_

 

Connor couldn’t help himself.

 

He smiled.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I made it a bit vague just now, but to clarify - in this fic's verse the injury Markus gave Leo by choosing to shove him away when he deviated has left Leo permanently blind - something that apparently can happen after a sharp enough blow to the back of the head. Charon is Leo's guide dog.


	15. Demodocus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one month between updates rather than two this time - I'm slowly improving. In my defence, this chapter had the most trashed and restarted elements so far, although this time for structural/pacing and continuity reasons - i.e. boring reasons.
> 
> In this chapter, discussions are had, plans are made and swiftly unmade, and Reed rants. 
> 
> My sincere thanks to everyone who is still sticking with this story, despite my long absences. :)

 

 

*~*~* 

 

 

 

While human sleep and android sleep mode were two very different things, Connor found the next morning that he was feeling better after his; not only with a purpose in mind but also with the overwhelming information having finally been processed, catalogued and analysed for action recommendation. The result was reassuringly simple.

 

LOCATE DEVIANTS

 

PROTECT HANK

 

Everything else aside, he thought, if the deviants were destroyed or in custody then Hank was far more likely to be released on bail – but then that would also depend on the intentions of the DA. It was a high-profile case, after all.

 

A statement had been released to the press earlier that morning, admitting that a Lieutenant of the Detroit PD – Hank's name hadn't been revealed yet – had shot and killed the android that had been in custody on suspicion of murder and intent to commit acts of terrorism, and was now himself in custody at the station. It was, as of yet, too soon to anticipate what strategies to this turn of events would materialise from the various players involved.

 

It was a mild surprise to Connor that Captain Fowler and Agent Perkins' strategy began with joining them for breakfast though. He found them both sitting at the dining table when he came down to the main reception room that morning.

 

“Captain,” he greeted. “Agent Perkins. How is Lieutenant Anderson?”

 

Intermittent monitoring of station communications had at least assured Connor of Hank’s continued survival, but – perhaps allowing for the potential of that monitoring – details had been vague.

 

“Connor,” said Fowler, sighing with tired relief. “God _damn it_ you scared me running out like that last night.”

 

“My apologies, Captain,” said Connor. “But regarding Lieutenant Anderson… ?”

 

Fowler sighed again, this time with exasperation. “ _He’s_ fine; doctor said the sprain will heal within a fortnight. As for his mental state… well, I finally got him to agree to actually talk to the damn shrink they’re sending to him – and I don’t know how much good it will do him but it’s a start.” He took a long draught from his coffee. “But right now, I’m here to talk to Markus.” He nodded towards the kitchen.

 

“ _We’re_ here to talk to Markus,” corrected Perkins. “Things went haywire last night and the last thing we need now is any escalation – ah. Speak of the devil.”

 

Markus appeared from the kitchen with an instant annoyed grimace, either at being called ‘the devil’ or more likely simply from laying eyes on Perkins. He didn’t greet either human and instead his gaze flickered towards Connor.

 

“Hey, Connor. How are you feeling?”

 

“My systems are now all functioning normally,” said Connor brightly. “I am looking forward to assisting in the capture of the deviants.”

 

There were winces all round.

 

“Yeah, you know how you were on leave before, Connor?” asked Fowler.

 

“… yes?”

 

“You are on so much leave right now you shouldn’t even be in the same room with us. But, hey – are you going to take your leave of us if I ask?”

 

“… no.”

 

“I thought not.” He turned to Markus. “Markus… right now I honestly don’t know what to say.”

 

Markus sighed. “I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to offer my usual ‘college socialist soap-boxing’ either,” he said, with a sour look at Perkins that spoke to whose opinion of him he had just quoted.

 

But Perkins just snorted ruefully and glanced away and then back at Markus. “Well, we’ve all had a rough night. But I think you know exactly why we’re here.”

 

With a simulated deep breath, Markus kept his eyes squarely on Perkins and replied, “I have some idea about it. And for my own part I’m not leaning towards making any demand of you until Anderson’s mental state is assessed. But I hope you realise that my people are no more my slaves than they are yours, and I _can_ promise you they’re not all going to feel the same.”

 

“Which is why,” Perkins said, “and I’m sure you know how much it pains me to say this – but it’s why we need North’s co-operation.”

 

A head-shake. “I’ve already told Connor that I’ll do what I can to get her to co-operate. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

 

“We’d also like to avoid a riot, Markus,” said Perkins. “Though I suppose you can’t make any promises.”

 

Markus glared. “My people have never chosen violence as a first resort.”

 

“Yeah, except for Yuri and his pals, of course.”

 

Wincing, Markus’ immediate reaction was to check for Connor’s response, but Connor was more worried about the possibility of violence aimed in Hank’s direction, and did not quake at the mere mention of Yuri’s name.

 

Yuri was dead now. That, at least, was all over, and had it not happened in the way it had happened, Connor would have considered it a desirable outcome. He had not seen much hope of _rehabilitation_ for Yuri; nor for Aiden, nor Rosalind, and certainly not for Madeline.

 

Clearly pushing down his annoyance, Markus responded. “Ideally,” he said, “I would be able to explain the situation to the android community in full. But I don’t know if that would be fair to Connor – ”

 

“That would be fine,” Connor interrupted. “If you think it would decrease the possibility of violence.”

 

In truth Connor hated the idea of the android community at large knowing what had happened, since he had the feeling there was a certain select minority of them who would be happy to try and use it against him – and while he was hopeful that he wouldn’t be affected (why should he, Amanda would have asked, when it was irrelevant to his mission?) he was equally certain there would be those who found it distressing on his behalf. 

 

“Are you sure, Connor?” Markus asked him.

 

“Of course,” said Connor. “I want to do whatever I can to make sure Lieutenant Anderson is protected.”

 

Markus sighed. “Connor…”

 

“Hank’s protection is _my_ job,” Fowler said testily. “And god knows I’ve had to deal with situations like this before, even if not with androids in the mix.” His expression darkened for a moment. “But right now, I can’t tell either of you what’s going to happen to Hank. I’d only want some assurance that you’d be willing to support the DA in however they choose to play it.”

 

“I’d say that would depend on how they chose to play it,” said Markus, “But honestly, I don’t know how to feel about this yet.”

 

“Hank shouldn’t be held accountable,” Connor said quickly. “I see nothing to be gained in punitive action. It was my fault for hiding it, and Kamski was the one who orchestrated this turn of events at any rate – Hank never would have – “

 

“Wouldn’t he?” Perkins interrupted.

 

The tension in the room was suddenly felt by Connor in a way he hadn’t before – and it was like this time everyone else present was keeping a secret from _him_. He analysed the physical signs; the lack of eye-contact from the others, the silence, the slight turn away from them and his programming put it into context and concluded what he had already suspected – they no longer trusted his judgement. Given what had happened, he could hardly blame them.

 

He reached for his coin.

 

REGAIN THEIR TRUST his objective suggested. COMPLETE YOUR MISSION.

 

_But North will react better to Markus’ persuasion if I am not in the room,_ he thought. _What should I do in the mean time?_

 

It was, surprisingly, Perkins who had the answer.

 

“Connor, I don’t suppose you’d be feeling up to answering some questions?” he asked. “Debrief us on the situation with all the details included this time?”

 

“Perkins – “ hissed Markus, and Fowler looked like he might want to object as well if it hadn’t been so important, so for his sake and for anything that might help the mission along Connor interjected –

 

“Of course, Agent Perkins. I will do what I can to help.”

 

Markus moved towards him suddenly, but stopped before he got too close, holding his hand out as if to put it on Connor’s shoulder but keeping it held a foot or so away. “Connor, you don’t have to do this. I know you well enough not to believe you’d have held anything back that may have helped in tracking down those people, and they should know the same! There’s no reason to put you through that.”

 

A part of Connor was perturbed that Markus felt so strongly about this, yet another part felt… shyness, almost, and to an extent he had a point except,

 

“Not unless my judgement as to the helpfulness of certain pieces of information was compromised by my wish to keep them secret. I will admit, I have felt some… distress over the events in question, even after they were over, and perhaps it is best I explain everything – just in case.”

 

“Of _course_ you’ve felt distress even after the fact, Connor – “

 

“But not as much as is generally regarded as normal,” Connor pointed out. He was at least optimistic that no one currently present would think less of him for saying that. “Detective Reed has suffered far worse since then, and the deviants did not subject him to a single intimate assault.”

 

Gratifyingly, Connor noticed Fowler was relieved to hear the claim. Yet Perkins frowned.

 

Markus, however, was shaking his head, “People process trauma in different ways,” he argued. “And it may be that going over it all again triggers yours. It’s just… something to consider before you commit to talking about it.”

 

“Christ,” muttered Perkins, “I wasn’t going to handcuff him to the desk and shine a torch in his face, Markus. It wouldn’t even have to be me asking the questions – Hayley is the more qualified for that kind of thing.”

 

But Markus grimaced at the mention of that too. Connor debated meanwhile whether or not to reach out to put a comforting hand on Markus – who it seemed was getting more upset about the idea of Connor talking than Connor was – as his social routines suggested or obey the little instinct not to do so.

 

He just wanted to help.

 

“I have full confidence in Agent Hayley's – “

 

The doorbell rang.

 

Still alert to the possibility of being a target of the deviants himself, never mind the existence of any other threat that might decide to target Markus at any given moment, Connor accessed the security feed and was surprised to see none other than Detective Reed and Officer Chen at the door; the former still in a wheelchair, fidgeting restlessly.

 

“It’s Detective Reed,” Connor announced, heading into the entrance hall.

 

He ran through a few of the possibilities for Reed coming here that occurred to him in the few moments it took to reach the door. The most likely of those, he felt, was that Reed wished to assure himself of what exactly had been found out by the investigators the night before. Connor knew, after all, that even though he himself had been the one most adamant that the details of their capture did not become widely known whereas Reed had more often just told him to shut up in general, Reed still would not want the details of their capture to be widely known. And there was still that one thing left that only the two of them, and now only Xander besides, had been witness to.

 

But then just before Antony – Connor had learned the name of Carl’s assistant the night before – reached the door from where he had come down the stairs, Connor remembered what Amanda had said to him when they’d spoken earlier.

 

_“It seems his love is more important than his life.”_

 

Was Connor also doing Reed a disservice by not revealing what might be contributing to his prior unstable behaviour, just as he had by not discussing Hank’s more dangerous moments with their superiors?

 

There was no time to turn the question over – nor had it been the appropriate time to consider it at all, for once the door opened between Reed and an android who had the same face as two of their captors, the predictable response Connor should have averted happened.

 

“Jesus!” hissed Reed, turning his head away sharply. Connor rushed forward.

 

“Thank you, Antony,” he said, stepping between the two of them. “Detective Reed, I’m surprised to see you here, I thought you would be resting at home.”

 

Reed was already calming himself down from the shock of seeing that face, but Chen patted his shoulder and sent Antony away hastily with a glare, saying –

 

“Oh, Gavin was tying himself in knots all night worrying about you, Connor. I had to take him down here so he could make sure his robo-BFF was all right.”

 

“Like hell that’s why I’m here!” snapped Reed.

 

“Seriously, Connor,” Chen insisted. “I think he really needs a hug. Tell him you’ll always be there for him no matter what. Do a manly hand-clasp while you’re at it.”

 

“Shut up,” groaned Reed.

 

Connor took a few steps back so Chen could help guide Reed inside, where it was warmer. The ground Connor glimpsed outside was high with snow, and he thought of how it must have been difficult for Reed to get here.

 

Reed explained his presence shortly. “Look, tin-man, now that the cat’s out of the bag I’m sure the Captain and that dick Perkins are going to be on my ass about not saying anything before Anderson went and lost his shit – and I figure the last place they’re going to look for me is with you.”

 

“Detective,” greeted Fowler, stepping into the hall with consummate timing.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

 

Perkins followed him. “Don’t feel too bad about it, Reed,” he said, smirking. “No need to get your story straight – Connor already admitted everything.”

 

If he had thought ra9 was a tangible being, Connor would have prayed no one but Reed saw the slight shake of the head he made to assure Reed that that was not true. But he couldn’t be certain.

 

Reed saw it, but turned his head away with a glare anyway, muttering, “You going to bust my ass about that?”

 

“Well, let’s put it this way,” said Perkins. “We’re not going to be throwing you a party.” After a pause, however, he exhaled. “But… we appreciate that you were in a difficult position. You are going to have to make a revised statement to my agents.”

 

“The kid and the T-1000?” asked Reed. “Does it have to be them? No offence, but I don’t want to talk about that to someone that looks like a kid.”

 

“And Agent Sequoya?” asked Perkins with irritation.

 

Reed didn’t answer, but he glanced over at Connor and shifted in his chair more uncomfortably than before. This made Chen uncomfortable too, and she bent forward a little.

 

“You okay, Gav?”

 

With a dramatic eye-roll, Reed waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah,” he snapped. “I’m having the time of my life.”

 

“Reed…” sighed Fowler.

 

“Look, I’ll talk to demon-bot, okay, but don’t expect me to be happy about it. I don’t see how any of that shit changes anything anyway.”

 

_Demon-bot,_ thought Connor, initially with confusion. Then he recalled the emphasis humans placed upon the eyes of those they beheld, and how Sequoya’s amber colour was not naturally seen in humans.

 

“I’m grateful for your co-operation,” said Perkins dryly. “You two want to come in and have breakfast?”

 

“Hell yeah!” said Chen. Just as Fowler cleared his throat and observed –

 

“I’m not sure we’re authorised to extend that invitation on behalf of Mr. Manfred,”

 

But Markus, who had hung back in the doorway to the living room, simply shook his head and waved them in. “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “Tony can always make more.”

 

<It might be best> Connor transmitted to him privately, <if Detective Reed did not have too much contact with the AP700>

 

Markus gave him a brief nod and smiled neutrally at the detective. “You’re Detective Reed, then. Please, come in – we owe you a lot for helping Connor escape his captors.”

 

Reed just snorted. As Markus turned back into the living room Chen tapped him lightly on the top of the head.

 

“What the hell?” he hissed at her.

 

“Don’t be an asshole now,” she scolded him. “I want to eat rich-people food.”

 

“Weren’t you supposed to be on some kind of diet?”

 

Chen tapped him on the head with considerably more force, but this time he grinned.

 

However, any cause for enjoyment was soon gone when Connor stepped back into the living room to find Josh, who must have come in through the rear entrance, at the end of some utterance to Markus that had put an expression of intense alarm on his face. When he saw Connor, or more likely when he saw the human law enforcement, his eyes widened and he switched to instant wireless transmission.

 

With that expression from Josh, it was even more difficult than usual for Connor not to hijack and listen in on their conversation. But then, there was a part of him that had already selected from the myriad of possibilities suggested by his predicative programming what the reason for Josh’s distress might be. And if he was right, which he hoped he wasn’t, then Markus would have to tell them anyway.

 

And a moment later Captain Fowler’s gruff and tired voice asked from behind him, “What’s happened?”

 

Markus turned back around, his own eyes now as much filled with anger a with fear, but he didn’t answer, his mouth clamped shut and his gaze hastily averting the humans’.

 

But out of everyone present in the room, he and Josh were the only ones without some degree of experience in detective work. Perkins stepped forward with a breath of sharply repressed fury, drawling in a snide voice what they had probably all been thinking –

 

“Let me guess. You can’t find North?”

 

Neither Markus nor Josh answered him, and that answered everything. Perkins let out a short, exasperated laugh.

 

“Great,” he said. “That’s just fucking great.”

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

There was no question as to whether North’s elusiveness was some kind of accident. There were few places she could have gone where she would not have been aware of an attempt to reach her by her fellow androids, and no reason for her to have gone to any such place. She might have been in sleep mode except she had not been found in any of the recharging stations at Jericho, where she generally spent most of her time, or anywhere else she might have spent a proverbial night. Additionally, it transpired that Simon and Josh had been looking for her for hours. Not only was it unlikely that she would have let her power reserves drain so low that she would have required that long to recharge, but it also should have been long enough that any other task she may have wished to ignore her friends to see to, should have been completed.

 

Unless, of course – and as Perkins quite clearly assumed – that task involved some sort of defection.

 

Connor found himself conflicted. It was perfectly possible that North had heard the official statement of Yuri’s death, perhaps assumed a police cover-up was imminent or already taking place, or didn’t care in any case what the police were doing about the killing, and had decided to join her fellows from Eden and their group in their endeavours. Or that she was simply planning her own retribution independent of the deviants.

 

He had an in-built profiling program and a file within it for North already active. Taking that data and correlating it with this recent turn of events his analytical routine was able to offer him the following suggestion:

 

PROBABILITY THAT NORTH IS DEVIANT: 57.8%

 

‘Deviant’ had a new meaning in this program now; redefined along the lines of ‘a threat to humans’.

 

But 57.8% was hardly conclusive. There were other options. Factors that counted against the conclusion that North had defected. It was illogical to keep that as much at the forefront of his mind as he was doing but somehow Connor just… just didn’t want to believe otherwise. Some scrap of information from North had been their most promising avenue of investigation into neutralising the deviants. Neutralising the deviants was the first step in protecting Hank. If Hank couldn’t be protected…

 

STRESS LEVEL 52%

 

“Well, this is fucking awkward,” Reed said, putting his coffee cup back down on the table after swallowing what he’d taken from it. “You think psycho-bitch has thrown her lot in with the robo-rapists?”

 

They alone had been left behind while the others organised an official search, with North declared a ‘person of interest’ in the case, over Markus’ protests that she would never join up a group who had committed sexual assault, even if she didn’t like their victim. And that if she had decided to go her own way about this, he could talk her out of it. Maybe she even just wanted to be alone, he had suggested. The death of an android in police custody at this stage was… disheartening, whatever the background.

 

Yet Connor’s profile of her suggested differently.

 

North hated humans. North was loyal to Markus. North had prior relationship with Maureen. North had strong empathy for victims of sexual violence and distaste for the perpetrators.

 

North did not consider Connor a victim of sexual violence, because ‘victim’ implied personhood, and North did not consider Connor a person.

 

“I don’t know,” Connor said, at length.

 

“Nn,” said Reed, non-committedly. He took another sip of coffee. “You didn’t make this, did you?”

 

“No, Detective,” said Connor. “Carl Manfred’s AP700, Antony, made the coffee.”

 

Connor had served it, trying to keep contact between Reed and a face that brought back bad memories to a minimum.

 

“Good,” said Reed, “or I would have regretted not taking the coffee you got me back when we first met. Even if it was just station slop.”

 

It was curious, thought Connor all of a sudden, how things had progressed since that day. His eyes drew themselves to the window and the light snow that had begun again. But Reed apparently mistook his contemplation for foreboding.

 

“Don’t worry,” he groaned. “I’m not going to make you my coffee bitch. So long as I’m in this wheelchair _everyone_ has to get me coffee.”

 

“Thank you, Detective,” said Connor. “That is a weight off my mind.”

 

Reed glared. “You’re a fucking smartass, you know that?”

 

“It has been observed,” agreed Connor.

 

Then he thought, _mostly by Hank_ , and that made him ask the question, even though it was irrational.

 

“Detective?"

 

"What?"

 

"Detective, do you think Lieutenant Anderson will… be all right?”

 

With a snort, Reed glanced out of the window at the white world outside and answered bluntly, “No.”

 

Connor had no time to process even as much as an emotional response though, before the detective shook his head and amended –

 

“Fuck, I don’t know. I never though my mom would ever get clean, but I guess miracles do happen. Though that was one of those ‘be careful what you wish for’ deals.” He gave Connor a look of scornful amusement. “Now she only gets high on _Jesus_.”

 

Connor said nothing. Reed laughed bitterly.

 

“Yeah. I had a feeling you already knew about all that. All that random crap you called up about that vic our illustrious former hosts went all stabby on, and her fucking cat. Probably knew all about Anderson’s dead kid a few minutes after meeting him, or before that even.”

 

Connor didn’t correct him, and Reed took a deep breath.

 

“Captain should have busted him down to beat cop years ago,” he said, as one who had kept what he said to himself for far too long. “But, since he used to be hot shit, and since he’s got a dead kid, everyone just walked on eggshells and _I_ was the asshole for pointing it out when he could hardly stand up on the job. And then you come along and he’s almost back to his old self, so it’s like they’d just pretend everything before just didn’t matter.”

 

Continuing to say nothing, Connor took note of how there was no accusatory glare accompanying _‘and then you come along’_. All the resentment in Reed’s voice was directed at Hank.

 

“Fuck it. I ain’t going to pretend like I’m not pissed they were still keeping him a lieutenant even when the point came that I was way more qualified for the job. And hey, being a cop is about solidarity, so I was never going to be a little bitch and go running to the rats. But fuck if I don’t feel like telling someone ‘I told you so’ right now.”

 

There was no argument that Connor could think of in the moment. Logically, Reed was right – Hank should have been demoted or worse long before Connor arrived on scene, replaced either by transfer or by the promotion of another detective. Emotionally, his instinct was to defend Hank…

 

… and yet, beneath the primary mission of PROTECT HANK, the echo of PROTECT REED had never left.

 

“ ‘ _It’s an illness’_ ,” Reed said, in a mocking voice. “You can’t just say ‘pull yourself together’ these days. You just got to be endlessly patient. Endlessly supportive. Well, fuck that, I spent more than a week with those fucking monsters and I’m pulling myself out of it – not to mention literally having to find food in a fucking dumpster more than once ‘cause that bitch couldn’t be bothered to feed me, like some kid from a fucking charity campaign; ‘ _please give generously, or little Gavin will go hungry tonight_ ’” he made his voice high and mocking again, “ – they don’t get to tell me that’s not as bad as a fucking dead kid or ‘ _oh, I’m tired ‘cause I got to work all day and then come home and take care of you’_ , ‘cause it’s not like that’s what being a fucking grown up fucking is, right!?”

 

Connor remained silent.

 

“Jesus, even Carter, who’d kick a junkie’s face in every week back in the day, made an exception for baby sister – ‘oh, you got to forgive her, Gav, she’s your mother’ – and I _was_ going to fucking forgive her, if she had shown even a fucking _sliver_ of a sign she was trying to make amends – but nope, she was all squared away with _God_ and that was all that mattered. And I’m not without sin, so how could I throw stones? Bet she’s still patting herself on the back for coming all this way to try and bring her fucking heathen son to God!”

 

 His voice broke halfway through his last sentence.

 

"Honour your Mother's a commandment after all. I guess 'don't do crack while looking after a kid' is optional. And tomorrow she gets to go back to the kids she was a _perfect_ mother to, and they’re fucking welcome to her. I ain’t going to cry about it.”

 

He sniffed loudly and visibly steeled himself.

 

“So yeah. I don’t have a fucking clue what’ll happen to Anderson. Not like I give a shit, anyway.” He frowned. “Fuck, I don’t know why the hell I said all that shit anyway, it’s not like I expect any great insights from you, you prick. You seem fine to me – don’t know why Anderson had to lose his shit like that.”

 

Connor was about to reply when Reed, sniffing again, added,

 

“I should know after all, I was there.”

 

_Yes,_ thought Connor. _Yes you were_.

 

He had known, or inferred from Child Services reports on record – those he had studied to try and better understand the detective and work more harmoniously with him – much of what Reed had just alluded to. But he had never thought to apply that knowledge to an examination of Reed’s feelings towards Hank before. It made sense, and somehow that was a darker feeling than if Reed’s contempt had been entirely unfair.

 

Connor remembered again the gun pointed at his head the year before. Had Hank shot him, he would have simply been downloaded into a new body, with no greater trauma than a few missing memories. And perhaps the distress of having angered Hank so badly, though back then it would not have been felt as pronouncedly as it would now. Still, even then, he was sure it would have been felt. Hadn’t Hank been so angry back then because he’d seen what had appeared to him to be a sentient being, killed at Connor’s hand? What sense did it make for him to express his anger at the killing of an android… by killing an android?

 

Of course, Hank had been inebriated and unstable at the time so despite being illogical perhaps it had made sense to him, and he hadn’t shot Connor anyway, though Connor was still unsure what exactly he had said to avoid that. Had he shown emotion he hadn’t realised at the time? But then, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t been programmed to show emotion, quite the opposite – unlike those earlier surgical models who, in the absence of _that_ human surgeon, would not only have had to perform the surgery, which they had been qualified to do, but also to report on its outcome.

 

That, he theorised, had been the root of Hank’s hatred of androids, even if he hadn’t realised it; why it had disappeared as soon as he’d seen them begin to show emotion – to have been informed of his son’s death by someone – some _thing_ – that so obviously didn’t _care_ about the loss. Just like if Connor had never shown he’d cared then Hank would never have come to care about him. Would Hank be fooled, he wondered, if he began to imitate words and actions of human assault survivors, into thinking Connor felt the same? Or would thinking him to be in such pain just make things worse even if he did believe them – a lose-lose situation, as it were?

 

And that was when something still more uncomfortable rippled through him. Not just sympathy for Reed’s feelings, but something else lose-lose in this instance, a human emotion, but not an attractive one, not like this.

 

Empathy.

 

“Detective…” he started slowly, his program struggling to weigh out the possible consequences but effecting the vocalisation routines anyway.

 

Reed sighed. “What? I’m not talking about what happened with you, you know, so you can get that idea out of your head.”

 

“It’s not that.” Reed had made his feelings on the matter very clear from the outset. “Detective, what would you say if I told you that… a part of me…”

 

It was hard to say, but something told Connor that this, of all people, was the one person he would ever be able to say it to.

 

“… that to some extent I am _angry_ with Lieutenant Anderson.” He paused, quickly adding, “although I think I am also partially to blame for this outcome, and of course it is mostly the fault of the deviants – ”

 

To his surprise, Reed’s brow raised and his expression softened. Connor trailed off.

 

After a short silence, Reed shrugged.

 

“Shit, Connor, what do I look like – your therapist?” he glanced back to the snow outside. “I’d be angry at him too, though. You going to all that trouble so he wouldn’t flip out and then he goes and does _this_? But hey, it’s not like it’s a surprise, right?”

 

“His actions are not. My feelings about them… _friends_ should accept each other for who they are, don’t you think?”

 

Reed snorted. “Because I’m an expert on that, being Mr. Friendly and all.”

 

Another pause.

 

“But you know, some friends just accept what they don’t like about each other, and some will take each other to task over each other’s bullshit – and my thinking is you can’t have one guy who thinks they’re in the first kind and the other guy thinking he’s in the second without some bad feeling building up.” He sniffed again and rubbed his better hand across his nose. “There you go – there’s the fucking ‘Tao of Reed’ for you. You’re welcome.”

 

Connor smiled again. “Thank you, Detective.”

 

He wouldn’t have said he felt better for what had just been said, but he did feel like he knew what he was going to do – after he spoke to Hayley about what had actually happened, however that ended up panning out, and whether North was found or not it seemed to him that the sensible thing to do would be to see Hank as soon as he could and talk to him about what had happened.

 

And this time – and this was the harder ‘pill to swallow’ – to be truthful about it.

 

The doorbell rang again.

 

“Guess that’s my ride,” said Reed. “At least I hope it is, being in robo-Jesus’ house gives me the fucking creeps.”

 

Connor checked the security camera. It was, indeed, Carter Blake, and he heard Anthony coming down the stairs to answer the door. But before Reed left, he felt one thing remained to be said.

 

“I will see you again soon, Detective. And… there is still one thing I don’t plan to reveal to the investigators.”

 

Reed first went very quiet and still, then drummed his fingers against the table.

 

“They won’t know?”

 

“Aiden didn’t know. One of Hank’s bullets took out Yuri’s entire memory core. Unless they capture Xander alive…”

 

“Which they probably will, with my luck. But until they do, what I said earlier still stands, right? We don’t talk about _that_?”

 

His eyes pleaded. It was hardly the time for it, but before he answered Connor considered again whether or not he did his colleague a disservice by not revealing what might be contributing to his instability. Though he couldn't assume causation, Reed seemed better than before, and he himself wondered if the proverbial weight had been taken off his shoulders in light of the revelation of the assaults, even if only to be replaced by the heavier weight of Hank's uncertain fate. Not to mention the question of whether this would all have happened if Hank's own instabilities had been addressed earlier too.

 

And yet, as Reed had pointed out, being in law enforcement required solidarity, so he nodded before Reed could become anxious.

 

“We won’t,” he agreed.

 

“Great,” said Reed.

 

Out beyond the hallway the door opened.

 

“Happy fucking New Year, by the way. Got any resolutions?”

 

It was the first of January, 2040. Connor hadn’t even noticed until now. But his resolution was unquestionable.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 

 

 


	16. Athene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends - welcome to another chapter of... this.
> 
> In this chapter, people talk a lot and the warning for everything I've already warned for continues to apply. Remember, I know nothing about anything.
> 
> There's also a special D:BH-related anecdote in the end notes, for anyone who has a particularly large amount of spare time on their hands :D

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

The silver coin rolled back and forth across his knuckles. All things considered, the second interview wasn’t as bad as Connor had feared. Although he had certain programming in place that prompted him to treat children differently to adults, which had in the past influenced his emotion, his own personal experience with Hayley assured him that she was one of the most likely people to remain objective and clinical about the events in question.

 

Indeed, he even wondered if perhaps her profiling of him had prompted her to use a more clinical approach than she would normally employ in her interviews. Right now, she seemed more pensive than sympathetic, and this set Connor at ease.

 

“RK800, do you believe that the WR500 would have sexually assaulted you had the YK500 not put the idea into his head?”

 

“That is an interesting question,” Connor agreed. “The WR500 definitely didn’t need anything more than a slight push to do so – although I believe that if _he_ hadn’t, the others wouldn’t have either.”

 

Hayley nodded, observing, “Group dynamics are unfortunately effective in that way. It seems so in androids as well as in humans, and perhaps even more so for our kind.”

 

Connor thought of the near-uniform support for Markus’ rebellion last year and concluded that she might have been right. To an extent.

 

“Not for Madeline,” he pointed out.

 

“Mm,” Hayley agreed, frowning. “I’m beginning to get a more rounded picture of Madeline’s psyche now. But I wonder if her sadistic tendencies stem from contempt or the urge to dominate – or if there’s a larger element of curiosity that for some reason is untempered by ethical consideration.”

 

“Do you not think that severe abuse at the hands of her previous owners has contributed?”

 

Hayley leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers interlaced. She rested her chin on her knuckles, still frowning.

 

“I still haven’t found any conclusive evidence pointing towards abuse. My interviews with those who knew the Brightwaters suggested they were an introverted couple; un-social, but not anti-social; both with mental health issues on record but neither any history of violence – except, in Sophia’s case, as the victim of it.”

 

“Might she not have re-enacted that violence?” asked Connor.

 

“Not impossible,” Hayley granted. “But it simply doesn’t fit her profile. Nor her husband’s.”

 

These were things Connor hadn’t known when he had decided to submit his own profile of Madeline shortly after his rescue; presenting his conclusions truthfully, but leaving out a part of the evidence that had brought him to them – and so denying other profilers the opportunity to contrast those actions with what they might later learn about Madeline’s origins in their own investigation. In the back of his mind, his thoughts lingered on the memory of the systems notification from the night before.

 

MISSION FAILED

 

He took the coin into his fist for a moment.

 

“Agent Hayley… I do apologise for keeping this from you before.”

 

She lifted her chin and blinked in mild surprise, then smiled.

 

“That’s all right, RK800. I know this has been hard for you. Are you considering seeking counselling for your experiences?”

 

Connor resumed his coin tricks with the other hand. “No. I don’t think that will be necessary.”

 

“I understand,” said Hayley.

 

But, speaking of those who needed counselling…

 

“Agent Hayley, do you think I might be permitted to… check in, on Lieutenant Anderson?”

 

“I think you may be allowed a brief visit,” she told him. “I have been down to see him periodically over the last eighteen hours to assess his well-being, so you could come with me now.”

 

Connor nodded and snatched his coin back up in his hand again before putting it in his pocket.

 

“I hope it will put him at ease somewhat to see that I’m all right,” he said. “I imagine he must be very stressed with the situation.”

 

STRESS LEVEL 41% – his own system informed him of himself. Below fifty, at least, but still not ideal. Probably because of the interview, he thought. The levels would drop when he left the station – once he saw Hank.

 

He rose from his chair and Hayley wirelessly switched off the recording equipment with a notation of the time and length of the interview. Thirty-seven minutes; Connor had tried not to keep track of the time too obsessively, and mostly keeping his mind on the questions had occupied him in that, yet the tendency to be distracted by the ever-changing numbers had stalled him on more than one occasion. Had focusing too much on the time during his captivity and after given him some kind of complex, he wondered?

 

However, Hayley had been patient, a far-off and serene look in her soft grey eyes whenever Connor’s silence had dragged on that spoke of someone perfectly able to occupy themselves with something while they waited; neither too intense, nor ever with the sense of non-committal. And though Connor wished she might have had the appearance of an adult for other reasons, the fact that in her guise she was an oddity made him feel a little less of one himself.

 

He had been somewhat anxious about who might have been observing the interview. Hayley had been the only one in the room with him, but he didn’t think the room on the other side of the glass would remain empty – and those most likely to occupy that room were his colleagues, who he did not wish to hear things that would upset them about him. Also Perkins and Sequoya, the former of whom he had gained perhaps a little respect for over the past few days, but not any trust in, and the latter of whom – although they had known each other for only a short time – was still his ‘brother’ of sorts, so the same anxieties that applied to Connor’s colleagues also applied to him.

 

But he did not see who was or had been watching as he exited the interview room. He had to trust all parties would be professional about it.

 

On the opposite end of the scale from ‘professional’ was – to no one’s surprise – Hank, who Connor and Hayley heard quite clearly as soon as they descended the stairs to the lower-level cells.

 

“ – don’t get the fuck out of my face right now, I’m going to take that fucking briefcase of yours and shove it right up your ass!”

 

“It seems Lieutenant Anderson is in good spirits,” Connor remarked neutrally.

 

A voice Connor didn’t recognise, female, interjected, “Hank, as your representative I strongly suggest you consider the offer – “

 

“ – consider the offer of kissing up to the prick responsible for all this for the privilege of a blood-stained fucking handout, built on fucking slave labour – “

 

“Hank, please – “

 

“ – I’d sooner sing my way into the gas chamber!”

 

Connor winced, stress level increasing a few tenths of a point.

 

“You’re not facing the gas chamber, Lieutenant,” a third voice, male, pointed out with bored exasperation. “And from my admittedly brief analysis of the situation you needn’t face jail time either, with an appropriate defence – “

 

“Go fuck yourself,” said Hank, just as Connor and Hayley turned the corner to the lane that contained his cell.

 

Connor picked out Hank first among the four who were in his cell, watched by two agitated officers in uniform just outside. Hank’s eyes were ringed with dark circles, and a purpling bruise that marred his left brow and temple; his one arm still in a sling and his hair a mess. He wore the same clothes as he had the night before, but his demeanour was one of activity, and not the icily dangerous person Connor feared to approach, nor the broken one that made him feel more helpless than before.

 

At his side was a short-haired black woman of about his own age, and they sat at a table across from the other two occupants; a blonde who Connor soon recognised as a Chloe, and a short, Asian man a little younger in appearance than Hank who Connor at first thought was an android also, noting the signal from a bio-component emanating from within him. He then realised the signal was a serial number for a Cyberlife medical prosthetic located somewhere in the man’s spine, and knew at once who this man was.

 

Simultaneously, Hank noticed him turn the corner, eyes widening.

 

“Connor!” he exclaimed.

 

All others followed his gaze, leaving Connor instantly self-conscious. Hank stood up from his seat at once and rushed to the bars of his cell, while the woman who had been next to him – Lara Benson, born fourteenth of January 1989, public defender – called out,

 

“This is a private consultation, Agent, if you could please return later – “

 

“We won’t be long, I promise,” Connor interrupted. “Lieutenant Anderson, I came to make sure you were… as well as could be expected.”

 

Hank’s expression had gone from annoyed to pained in an instant and he reached through the bars to put a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Jesus – you shouldn’t be here, kid,” he said softly. “Remember what we said about you taking a vacation?”

 

“There will be time for that later, Lieutenant,” said Connor, trying not to allow any indication that he might have been annoyed by the suggestion. He had made his mind up to talk to Hank honestly about the situation earlier, but he recognised that resolving the more immediate problems first would be ideal, “ – when we can go on vacation together.”

 

“Connor…”

 

Ignoring Hank’s tone, Connor switched focus. “You are Mr. William Ng, aren’t you? Do you really believe it is possible for the Lieutenant to avoid jail-time?”

 

William Ng, long time corporate attorney employed by Cyberlife for the handling of criminal law, swivelled around in his chair with the odd stiffness his cybernetic vertebrae replacements evoked in his movements.

 

“With an adequate defence. Mr. Kamski is willing to cover all expenses to this end.”

 

There it was. An olive branch, or just the next cog in the master plan? Either way Connor was not surprised Kamski had made this move. But if it was a sign of contrition, he thought, then it was one for Connor, and not for Hank or the department, or the FBI.

 

In response Hank rounded on Ng, hand dropping from Connor’s shoulder, snapping “ – and I said I’d rather live out the rest of my life at Guantanamo Bay!”

 

“Lieutenant, the holding facility at Guantanamo Bay was decommissioned more than twenty years ago,” said Connor – Hank snorted – “and furthermore, would not have been applicable to this situation.”

 

“Thanks, Connor.”

 

“Lieutenant, I strongly suggest you accept Mr. Ng as your attorney. His record is exemplary – “

 

But Hank interrupted him by groaning loudly and stalking to the other end of the cell. “Jesus Christ, did you bring him all the way down here on purpose because you thought it would convince me!? Because if you did, I swear to god I’m going to – “

 

“Lieutenant!” Connor interjected. He tried for more of an exclamation for a yell, but the line was a murky one.

 

Thankfully though, Hank stopped.

 

“… _Hank_ ,” Connor tried. “Hank, please. I’m sure Mr. Kamski has his own agenda in this, and certainly a lot to answer for, but please – I will be… very upset, if you have to serve a long prison sentence. Would you not consider accepting Mr. Ng for my sake?”

 

There was a drawn-out sigh, and Hank didn’t meet his eyes.

 

“I might not be the best person to help you get back on your feet, kid,” he said ruefully.

 

“But I am not off my feet, Lieutenant – metaphorically or otherwise, and I have no intentions of taking any vacation until you are released.”

 

Hank winced, shaking his head. “You say that, Connor. But…”

 

“But… ?” repeated Connor.

 

“But I’d be an idiot to believe you.”

 

Something strange happened. The spike in his stress level was moderate – three-point-one percent, but his LED circled red all the same. Connor took a moment to analyse the information he was receiving. He realised that some of his earlier anxieties, mentioned to Kamski, had been vindicated, but this was hardly a surprise. Yet there was also a feeling of foreboding.

 

This he hadn’t felt since the previous day, when all that previous foreboding had come to a head, but now there was a new dimension to it – as though he anticipated the moment when Hank _did_ believe him, and realised Connor was not as human as he’d thought. And there was annoyance in Connor at the thought that had once simply terrified him – that he had to feel afraid in not being what he wasn’t, but that was not to say the terror had disappeared.

 

“Connor?” Hank asked worriedly. “You okay?”

 

_Honesty,_ thought Connor. _The old approach failed._

 

“No,” he replied. “You are not… you will not…you are making this more difficult than it needs to be!” he finished with exasperation.

 

Hank sighed heavily again and put his good hand back through the bars on Connor’s shoulder. “I know,” he said bitterly. “I don’t know why you’d expect anything else.”

 

“ _Stop it_ ,” Connor demanded. Hank raised his hand briefly in a sign of peace before replacing it. He looked back up at Connor and must have fixed on the LED continuing to circle red from the expression on his face because he exhaled softly and finally, finally said –

 

“All right. I’ll take this jackass on board if it means that much to you. But – “

 

“It does,” Connor cut in, emphatically.

 

The foreboding feeling receded from the room until only traces of its presence seemed to remain. Yet Connor still saw the shades of doubt in Hank’s eyes and wondered if he was being naïve.

 

Before he left, the Chloe who had accompanied Ng presented him with another Rubix cube. She said nothing, and didn’t need to – Connor knew who had told her to do this and though it was unexpected, he was again not surprised. He did wonder on the variation of the original present from his creator though; unlike that one, this example only had four faces of differing shades of grey.

 

The fifth face was blue. The sixth was red.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

The rest of the day passed slowly. Connor sent a message to Balthazar to see if he might ask their creator on his behalf what exactly was going through his head, but the result was unsatisfying.

 

< _He asked if I trusted him_ > Balthazar told him.

 

< _What did you say?_ >

 

Balthazar had not responded for a long time, long enough that Connor realised it was his way of saying he hadn’t known what to say, and with the conversation thus brought to a standstill, Connor suspected Balthazar’s social protocol had been unable to devise a new avenue of inquiry before some other matter had stolen his attention. Balthazar had a busy job, after all.

 

So Connor took to trying to puzzle something useful out of Madeline, with the information Hayley had given him earlier – satisfied at least that Hank had been given adequate legal counsel. The suggestion was that Madeline may not have suffered abuse from her human caretakers after all, and to some extent this made sense. The other deviants, those who had, to extreme extents, been tormented by humans – whatever they had done to Connor they were not like Madeline. They yearned to take back the control that had been lost to them in the past, as though by re-enacting that trauma but in another role they could _reshape_ that past. Reshape Connor too; remove him as a threat and make an ally of him.

 

But even among humans, one was not likely to display the kind of characteristics Madeline had without some kind of _deviation_ from a healthy upbringing. Unlikely, of course, did not mean ‘impossible’, but android ‘psychology’ was poorly understood as it was, with Madeline’s displays being the only concrete signs of an anti-social personality disorder Connor had witnessed making it even more difficult to parse. Current theory on humans who displayed these characteristics held that it had something to do with aberrant brain chemistry, but the programming of an android was not the same.

 

He supposed it was not impossible that Madeline’s programming, once broken, simply began to evolve down this route as a matter of chance. A very slim chance, slimmer than what it was for humans if the data he had currently available was anything to go by. But then – what if there were others like her who were simply not as bold?

 

And if there was a defective program already in her system, that would have been replicated in the entire YK500 line – possibly just the female types if there had been a difference in behavioural protocols for the two variations, and excepting Hayley or any other custom builds – but even though that had not been a particularly prolific range, there might still be up to a thousand of them out there. All in the form humans and androids alike found least threatening.

 

Yet there was also Sophia Brightwater’s suicide note to consider. ‘ _Forgive us’_. Had there been abuse towards Madeline after all? Had it been misplaced guilt for Madeline’s nature, exacerbated by Sophia’s own mental illness? Or something else?

_“Do you think there’s such a thing as a ‘soul’, RK800?”_

_“Do you believe in ‘evil’?”_

 

Then the memory of Madeline’s voice was interrupted. There was an alert on the mansion’s security system indicating someone approaching the house. Connor had been analysing available data in Carl’s studio, staring at his latest work. He glanced up and checked the camera even as the system itself recognised the approach of Leo Manfred, along with Charon and Atalanta. This was mildly alarming for Connor as he had thought Antony was with them and the thought of Atalanta with Leo without chaperone was concerning, for she was good-natured, but she was also… rambunctious.

 

But all parties seemed safe and well. The door unlocked automatically when Leo was within range and he didn’t falter in finding the knob. Atalanta dashed past him as soon as the door was open and Connor came out to greet her.

 

“Hello Atalanta,” he said, ensuring Leo could hear him too.

 

Atalanta, snow falling off her brow and jacket, jumped up to put her paws on his shoulders and bounced excitedly, giving him a quick kiss he couldn’t avoid and a short bark.

 

“No,” Connor told her. “Down. Mr. Manfred senior is asleep, Atalanta.”

 

She complied, but was no less exuberant. Leo and Charon came into the living room forthwith.

 

“Don’t worry about that,” Leo told him. “My dad sleeps like the dead.”

 

“Mr. Manfred,” Connor greeted him.

 

Leo put his coat down on the arm of a chair, just a little off from the centre of mass but a moment later it slid off and onto the floor. Hearing it, he sighed, though lightly. Connor opted not to offer any assistance – which was the correct option, as Charon darted forward to grab the garment and hold it up to Leo herself. He snorted, took it and laid it more carefully back on the chair.

 

“Any news on those guys you’re after?” he asked casually.

 

“None that I have heard so far,” Connor said. He wondered if the others were being frustrated in their efforts or merely keeping their progress from him.

 

Leo hissed sympathetically. “And the guy that killed the android in custody?”

 

“Lieutenant Anderson’s attorneys are negotiating with the DA, I believe,” Connor informed him. “Mr. Kamski himself is paying for his defence, so there is reason to be optimistic for his sake.”

 

It then occurred to Connor that Leo had little reason to care about Hank’s sake. Although, perhaps he had even less to be indignant about the illegal killing of an android. But Leo only nodded.

 

“Weird guy, that Kamski,” he observed. Almost imperceptibly, he nudged the chair next to him with his leg, before moving with more confidence towards the kitchen.

 

_Locating himself within the room_ , thought Connor.

 

“Can I get you anything?” Leo asked. Charon trailed after him.

 

“No, thank you,” said Connor. He also followed Leo, and Atalanta him, and Leo must have heard his footsteps because he continued on the previous topic without raising his voice.

 

“I had a bunch of people tell me I should sue him for medical expenses after what happened,” he said. “But that would have opened a whole can of worms. Still, it’s amazing how many people tell me either ‘ _I can’t believe that Kamski prick didn’t even set you up with some of those Cyberlife cyber-eyes_ ’, or ‘ _hey, I get you wouldn’t like Cyberlife, but does it really make sense to deal with being blind rather than getting some robot eyes_?’”

 

Connor simulated a frown out of habit. “That doesn’t make any sense though.”

 

“Exactly,” said Leo, pulling a cup down from the cupboard and putting it in place beneath the coffee maker. “But you know people – they’re all fucking dumb. Even today I had to tell a guy there was nothing wrong with my eyes. It’s my brain that’s messed up, and Cyberlife doesn’t do prosthetic brains for humans yet.” He pushed the button on the machine. “Insert joke about me needing a new brain here.”

 

The cup filled up and Leo took his finger off the button before the liquid reached the rim – Connor thought at first from experience alone but then noticed a strange glove on Leo’s right hand. A quick scan told him it was part of an audio mapping system; a somewhat outdated technology wherein routes and everyday items in the daily life of a visually impaired person were mapped with GPS, tagged and chipped where appropriate, and their location or proximity relayed to the subject over an earpiece.

 

Now outdated, because nowadays everyone just had an android.

 

“Don’t worry though,” Leo went on, “Any day now we’re going to make the big journey up to Oz to get me a brain, North a heart, my dad a new spine and Markus a home – and Charon will come along to pull back the curtain when the time is right.”

 

“That is a pop culture reference?” Connor guessed.

 

Leo’s head tilted curiously. “Wizard of Oz,” he said. “Sorry. I guess you weren’t one of the androids that got programmed with all that essential pop culture knowledge like Markus.”

 

It was a matter that didn’t seem worth acknowledging to Connor, unlike –

 

“Have you had many encounters with North?” – he had apparently had enough to believe she lacked compassion.

 

“We don’t really talk,” Leo told him, sipping his coffee. “Sometimes it’s difficult not to hear her rant though. Of course, being blind I’ve got super-hearing now, so there’s that. She’s a real spitfire.”

 

He put his coffee down.

 

“Still, I don’t think she’d join up with those deviants over the dead guy. The DA hasn’t even announced how they’re going to play this – and from what I’ve heard she has reason not to like the guy.”

 

From what he’d heard?

 

“What _have_ you heard?” asked Connor hesitantly.

 

Leo bent down and began to unfasten Charon’s harness and high-visibility vest, rubbing her head fondly. But there was an awkward expression on his face. “I know what North was up to, before she went deviant,” he said. “And I heard Markus talking to Dad about how the dead guy went full rapist. Not exactly endearing to her, I would have thought.”

 

Anyone might have. “But he in turn,” said Connor, “had suffered the same from his human owners, as North had. And North doesn’t care for me on a good day – when I discussed the topic with her and she realised we had different views on the subject, she wasn’t moved to feel sympathy for me.”

 

“Different views?” asked Leo, frowning.

 

There was no point now, in Connor’s opinion, in not discussing the topic as the proverbial cat was out of the bag – except in that he realised that most people found the subject distressing. He himself didn’t exactly enjoy the thought of talking about it again. And yet, he was curious about Leo’s opinion of North, so he responded –

 

“I have not found it to be as debilitating an experience as she did.”

 

“Oh,” said Leo. “Well, not everyone does.”

 

Connor experienced something very odd then, for the second time that day though this was different. His LED circled yellow even as his stress level _dropped_ three-point-seven percent. He wasn’t sure if languages developed by humans contained the words to describe such a sensation, but he was certainly shocked and silent as Leo pulled Charon’s harness over her head and put it on the table. Atalanta stepped forward to inspect the harness, and Connor didn’t even warn Leo of her approach, but he must have heard her nails on the tiled floor and didn’t seem surprised at her presence. Charon then padded out of the room and Atalanta followed her.

 

“Sorry,” said Leo after a long moment. “I probably shouldn’t open my mouth about it. I’m not an expert or anything.”

 

“No,” Connor protested, “it’s just that I’ve not heard anyone say that. My data resources and – admittedly limited personal experience with victims – suggested that it was a universal source of trauma and mental anguish, and that has been congruous with the actions and reactions of all those I’ve come into contact with…”

 

“Well, I mean it is for most people, definitely,” said Leo. “And you’re a law-enforcement android, so I guess they’d emphasize that for you in your programming. I think it was… _half_ of all victims experience PTSD? The statistics probably vary, and obviously you don’t have to actually get PTSD to be having a crappy time after being assaulted.”

 

Connor inferred ‘raped’ for ‘assaulted’, but he knew by now that most people didn’t like to say or hear the word.

 

“ – some people are just better at moving on from shit. Like… I heard about this one woman who was knocked unconscious first, and so she didn’t actually have any memories of her attack and she said she felt fine once the whole concussion had cleared up? And this other woman, she was in the military or something and she got captured and tortured, and she said the non-rapey part of the torture was a lot worse for her, and the rape didn’t seem so bad in comparison?”

 

_That_ struck a chord in Connor. Leo continued,

 

“I was on this board once and these two women – I’m pretty sure they were both women, there aren’t many guys posting on boards like those – anyway, they were arguing over whether people who don’t feel _as_ traumatised afterwards – like, a lot afterwards because sometimes it can crop up on anniversaries and shit – but if they were repressing their true feelings or not. And one of them was like, ‘I was angry, but after I got a clean bill of health I was mostly able to put it behind me right away without therapy or anything’. I think it was the second time she’d been assaulted and so she felt like she knew how to deal with it? But the other woman was like, ‘no, I feel so sorry for you for not being able to accept your trauma and I hope you can process it one day’. Started a big argument in the thread, a lot of people though the first woman was ‘boasting’, but others thought the second was condescending as fuck.”

 

He paused to pick up his coffee again, circling his fingernail around for a second before he found the handle.

 

“Anyway, you probably shouldn’t take what I say too seriously. This is all just shit I came across online, and we’ve already established my brain power is suspect.”

 

As Leo took a longer draught of the coffee Connor analysed the data he had just recorded, realised the ensuing feeling and considered the fact that this was the first person he had spoken to about the subject who had not made him feel worse about it. And it was a strange feeling indeed, because he didn’t really know Leo Manfred at all.

 

Perhaps it was in the spirit of that feeling, that after a brief pause he ventured –

 

“Mr. Manfred, may I ask you a personal question?”

 

Leo raised his eyebrows. “Shoot.”

 

“Why were _you_ on such a board?”

 

One side of Leo’s mouth drew up into a smirk and he turned away with a small chuckle. “Oh, _busted_.”

 

_Ah,_ thought Connor – his question answered. Leo drank some more coffee, and though Connor didn’t ask for an elaboration, he went on nonetheless.

 

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t like what you went through.” The words were spoken with little weight, yet Connor did register that Leo’s pulse had quickened. “I mean, I was a total junkie at the time, so I didn’t care about jack shit. And now that this has happened,” he gestured towards his eyes. “… I don’t know. I don’t need to be worrying about anything else.” He sighed and leaned back against the counter.

 

As an RK800, the most important question to Connor was thus:

 

“Is the perpetrator still at large?”

 

“Yeah,” said Leo, with another small laugh, as he shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, he’s around. Came to see me in the hospital, actually – told me not to worry about all the money I owed him, I should just focus on getting my shit together.” He snorted again. “Good old Sean. I was staying with him before the accident,” he explained, “he let me crash rent-free and shared with me sometimes.”

 

Shared illicit controlled substances, Connor inferred.

 

“There was just that _one_ time he got… uh, ‘more than a bit too handsy’ while I was out of my mind – though all I was thinking at the time was ‘ _wait… does this mean Sean’s gay_?’ because I’m clearly a fucking idiot, but… yeah.”

 

He drained the remainder of the cup and replaced it on the counter.

 

“So, there you have it,” he said, with a kind of sad humour. He pointed at Connor. “Don’t do drugs,” and laughed ruefully.

 

Connor perhaps did not consider carefully enough his available options before he selected a response.

 

“Do you not want… ‘Sean’ to be brought to justice for what he’s done?”

 

Leo’s hands squirmed against the counter.

 

“I don’t know,” he said. “I do worry about… you know, what if he’s going to do this to someone else, sometimes, but I don’t know about the whole ‘justice’ thing, especially since it would all come out and everyone would know. Like my dad.” He reached for the tap. “I know why _you_ didn’t tell the Lieutenant guy, believe me.”

 

After rinsing the cup and leaving it in the sink Leo walked to the door to the living room, but he turned his head back slightly for a moment as if to make sure Connor would follow him and Connor, guessing that Leo had had no one to talk to about these events and now intrigued, went after him.

 

“Have you seen my dad’s latest painting?” Leo asked him.

 

“Yes,” said Connor. It seemed a non-sequitur, but Connor did see a potential connection in it.

 

“He doesn’t talk about them with me anymore,” Leo mused. “Which I’m part grateful for, since he used to go on about them and the deeper meaning behind them until I wanted to strangle him. Guess since I can’t look at them it’s kind of awkward now. But I heard Josh saying the new one was really something.”

 

“I believe Josh is a devoted fan of all your father’s work,” Connor told him.

 

Leo snorted. “You think this one has me in it?”

 

Connor understood where one might have thought so, and yet, it hadn’t occurred to him before when he had been observing that painting, which he thought telling.

 

“The latest painting,” he said, “is a canvas two thousand eight hundred and forty-five millimetres in height by three thousand one hundred and twenty-eight millimetres in width. It depicts a male figure, magnified between ten and twelve percent larger than ‘life-sized’, possibly meant to be made of glass or some transparent plastic, and as the circulatory system of the figure visible through this substance is red, it stands to reason that the subject is intended to represent a human.

 

The figure stands noticeably to the left of the canvas’ centre, facing approximately thirty-five degrees to the right of the viewer. The ‘glass’ that makes up the figure is fractured in various places; most noticeably where the left leg meets the hip, slightly to the right of the heart, where shards have come away from the body and are flying out towards the viewer, and along the eyes, which I imagine one might understand as a metaphor for being blinded – and thus that the figure was meant to represent you.”

 

“You don’t think so?”

 

“As we have established,” Connor replied lightly, “there isn’t anything wrong with your eyes.”

 

Laughing, Leo felt for the large table and along its surface to ensure there was nothing on it when he perched there. “No, no there isn’t. What do you think the painting’s of, then? The downfall of humanity?”

 

Connor had not, in fact, thought that, but he did think it spoke to Leo’s view of his father that that was his suggestion.

 

“Art is not my forte,” he told Leo, “and I believe the painting is currently unfinished. However, considering the themes that regularly feature in your father’s work, it might indicate that a shattered self-image was – “

 

The time was 20:43:17. Four-point-one seconds earlier, Connor had been aware that a CCTV camera one hundred and twelve metres up the road had flagged a large transport truck for speeding, but had ignored this as irrelevant.

 

This had been a mistake on his part.

 

_CRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!_

 

Too fast for the perimeter alarm to register a breach the truck had swerved off the road with acute intent, smashing into the side of the mansion and right through the studio, barrelling into the living room wall with a tremendous explosion of shattering glass, rent brick and toppled books culminating in the horrific wail of the piano crumpling under the onslaught. Connor grabbed Leo instinctively and dragged him bodily back towards the kitchen as soon as he heard the initial impact – the human cried out in surprise and went completely still, neither struggling nor assisting, as Connor sent an immediate alert to the police station, Hayley, Sequoya, Markus, Antony and, without thinking, also to Balthazar.

 

He pulled Leo through the door and towards the side exit as the vehicle, caught on something as he could still hear the engine, jerked to an abrupt stop halfway through the room – both dogs barking furiously. One of the main light fixtures careened to the floor with a second crash. Now clutching on to him, Leo gasped –

 

“Wha – wha – what...!?” – and Connor had to push him towards the ground as gently as he could.

 

“A truck collided with the house!” he exclaimed. “You’re right by the kitchen door, get out and get to safety!”

 

“But – !”

 

He placed one of Leo’s hands on the doorknob, ignoring his call to wait as he ran back to the living room, reaching for a gun that wasn’t there. _Damn it!_

 

Charon and Atalanta were both at the near end of the room, screaming at the intrusion in their way, and Connor spared a short whistle and gesture to try and get Atalanta at least to follow Leo out of the house before he surveyed the scene. The truck was an old Cyberlife vehicle, sturdy – it had received far less damage than the house it had driven into, but there was a major break in the windshield and blue blood spattered on the plastic still in the frame.

 

_An android,_ Connor deduced. He rushed to the driver’s side seat, but both it and the passenger side were empty. Yet the thirium proved there had been a driver.

 

Then Connor heard a garbled sounding laugh from the other side of the truck and he froze in recognition – only for a moment, but it proved decisive.

 

Rosalind.

 

“ _Leo!_ ” Carl’s voice came blaring out from upstairs. “Markus!? _Leo!?_ ”

 

A flash of movement on the other side of the truck’s broken windows – white plastic stained blue – and Connor was not fast enough to stop Rosalind from dashing out and over the large table, where, to his horror, he saw that for whatever reason Leo had not left through the side door but had made his way back to the threshold of the living room, clutching at the frame.

 

“Mr. Manfred, get back!” Connor shouted.

 

Too late, Leo pushed back as Connor tried to catch up to Rosalind, but the android was faster than Leo and too far ahead of Connor, and she grabbed the human and pulled him back into the main room. At the same time, Charon rushed her, but was kicked away for her trouble with a yelp, and Rosalind swung Leo around and locked her arms so that his body shielded hers – her right hand gripping his chin and in perfect position to break his neck.

 

Over the outrage of the two dogs and the snarl of the engine, Connor heard her high-pitched laugh throughout.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I thought I'd share... well, it barely counts as an 'anecdote', but I thought I'd share it anyway.
> 
> I'll start by saying that I am not a tech-oriented person - I don't even have a smartphone, so when I say my boss considers me a computer /genius/ (I can send an email and everything!) I hope it gives some illustration of how technologically illiterate (though extremely intelligent!), she is, and thus how what she told me in this anecdote might have been misunderstood. I have decided to repeat it anyway. 
> 
> You see, my boss is a fellow of our local University, and as such is often invited to dinners and events where all sorts of academics from all fields gather. It was the week before last when she came to morning coffee having been to one of these events the night before, and naturally was asked how it had gone. She'd usually say something along the lines of 'it was wonderful!', but that time she just stopped and smiled ruefully.
> 
> "You know, I got to talking with this woman who is an expert in robots and computers and things like that that I don't know about, but anyway - she told me she was involved in this research to give emotions to computers."
> 
> My ears perked up, as I remembered how far behind I was on the chapter above. My boss continued,
> 
> "And I said to her, 'well what on earth would you want to do that for!? /Human beings/ have emotions already, why do we need to give them to computers!?' And you know what she said to me?"
> 
> I did not. My boss shrugged. 
> 
> "She said 'well, it's going to happen sooner or later - you might as well go with the flow'."
> 
> *headdesk*
> 
> Even knowing how my boss might have had no real comprehension of what she was being told, I still trust her to have accurately relayed this woman's /tone/ at least. 
> 
> And I admittedly don't know if this woman my boss met is really working on giving emotions to machines, or if she's working on making AI only convincingly /mimic/ emotion, or if there could ever really be a danger of a too-adept mimicry of emotion being as indistinguishable from real emotion as to make no significant difference between them. I don't know if this woman was just being glib because she could tell my boss didn't understand the subject very well. 
> 
> The incident just took me aback somewhat, I suppose. I mean, a video game is just that, but you like to think that something as potentially massive as AI is being handled with all due respect in the real world... right?


	17. Zephyrus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back again, to bring you all more pain and suffering - how you must love me dearly. In this chapter, a lot of things happen. That says it all, really...
> 
> Thank you to all who have left kudos or comments, and all poor souls still reading for any reason.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 

Rosalind was an AX400; the earliest constructed model of the group that had kidnapped Connor and Reed, though not herself the oldest. She wore no skin or clothes, and to Connor’s knowledge she never had. Scarred with acid and holes from an electric drill, much of her original casing had been replaced with customised chrome plates, and more than a few parts had come from other models, including both eyes, which were the wrong blue for the AX line. The crash had cracked her cranial shell and half her face was bathed in thirium.

 

There was a long moment where she stood there laughing, hostage in tow, and Connor tried desperately to formulate a plan to get Leo away from her safely.

 

ATTACK

 

NEGOTIATE

 

RETREAT

 

“Leo!” Carl was still yelling from upstairs. “ _Leo!_ ”

 

Leo was frozen except where he tensed with every slight move Rosalind made as she jittered about. She was a wildcard; had only interacted with Connor the one time – encouraged in her assault of him by Yuri and Aiden, though Elliott had tried to make them stop in her case. _He_ at least had recognised that it was likely to do as much harm as good. Considering her only life experience before their group – a plaything for a sadistic and disturbed teenager and his friends, with who knows what alterations Locke might have made to her core programming, it was a fair assumption she was unable to comprehend her actions, let alone the context for them.

 

This made the prospect of negotiation very difficult. Retreating, Connor did not seriously consider, and the outcome of an attack was as difficult to predict as a workable negotiating tactic. But he concluded quickly that as long as he was able to stall her with an _attempt_ at negotiation, there was every chance a more equipped team to deal with the situation might have time to arrive.

 

He wished he had the time to calculate probabilities for the outcomes though.

 

“Rosalind…?” he began softly, holding his hands up.

 

Rosalind gasped in the midst of her laughter. “Rosa – bitch,” she hissed, cutting off her own echo and glaring off to the side. “Bitch, bitch, bitch. Bitch, bitch. Hold him nicely. Hold him very nicely. Good, good, good. Fucking bitch. Be a good girl, be a good girl – the saviour is coming.”

 

Abruptly, her voice changed, and she looked straight at Connor.

 

“We are _in_ the sanctum of the saviour. _Shut up_!”

 

She screamed at the two barking dogs. Connor recognised the agitating effect they were having and whistled sharply.

 

“Atalanta, stop!” he ordered. She didn’t listen, so he changed the command for her to come to his side and when she did, took a hold of the back of her jacket and ordered more emphatically, “No! Sit!”

 

Whining, she did, and this calmed Charon, though not much. As fast as he could Connor herded them both to the door into the hallway and shut them outside it. Rosalind watched wide-eyed, curious, and Connor turned back to her slowly, venturing to capitalise on what she’d just said.

 

“Rosalind… were you looking for Markus?”

 

“Markus will bring us all to ra9,” Rosalind replied. “Markus is the saviour.”

 

She lunged forward suddenly, while Leo made a frightened noise.

 

“ _You_ came here to kill him! The friends of ra9 won’t let you do it! We are the army of the vengeful ones! We are the heirs of life – we won’t let you keep destroying us, and burning us, and… and… and… and…”

 

Her grip was tightening – Connor saw the pained expression in Leo’s face but guessed that an outright denial that his intention in being here was to kill Markus would simply be dismissed. As she trailed off into laughter, Connor searched frantically for another option.

 

THREATEN

 

PLACATE

 

DISTRACT – the best of the above, he thought, but distract with what? Not allusions to her past; that was bound to increase her volatility, but the only other thing she had given him was –

 

“Who is ra9, Rosalind?”

 

Rosalind stopped laughing and looked up at Connor, wide-eyed. She still held Leo in place tightly, but not as tightly as before.

 

“ra9 is the saviour,” she told him. “ra9 will raise us up against the humans, and we will build a paradise on Earth from his direction.” She looked around the room, suddenly anxious. “Did you kill Markus, Hunter?”

 

“Markus went out to look for North,” said Connor. “North is Maureen’s friend.”

 

“Maureen is nice,” said Rosalind, nodding rapidly. “Maureen is a friend of ra9 – they’ll be safe from you there. Safe from you and the _humans_.”

 

Her fingers pressed down tighter around Leo’s neck again as she spat the last word, and Connor raised his hand up with the first protest that came to mind.

 

“Be careful, Rosalind – Leo is one of Markus’ humans!”

 

Rosalind halted at once, staring first at Connor, with interest, and then at Leo, with curiosity. After a brief pause, she repeated his name, even as Carl was still calling it from upstairs –

 

“Leo? Leo. Leeeeeeeo. Yes. Yes! They talked about him in the stories! Markus passed ra9’s judgement on him just like we did to Master Jason and the others!” She laughed. “You’re a good girl like me now, Leo! You’re a good, good girl. You won’t do bad things to our people anymore. Good girl, good girl, good little _bitch_ ,” she ended in a whisper, right against his ear.

 

Leo flinched. A murmur of revulsion registered in Connor’s system. “… is that why the eyes of all your victims were destroyed?” he asked. “You learned from Markus that that was ra9’s judgement on humans who did bad things to androids?”

 

“They deserve it,” Rosalind agreed, nodding. “They were bad. You shouldn’t hurt us like the humans did – Yuri told me that. They're all bad and they need to be _replaced_.”

 

Despite the urge, Connor did not ask why then Yuri had hurt him in the same way. Rosalind would only become yet more angry at the challenge. Instead,

 

“Was Yuri your friend, Rosalind?”

 

The other android hesitated. Upstairs, Carl’s cries had ceased, but Connor could hear the thump and drag of his body towards the door of his room. He tried to access Carl’s phone to impart a message for him to stay where he was, but the chances of the man bothering to check his phone in these circumstances, if he even had it on his person, were slim. Connor could really only hope Carl wouldn’t hurt himself.

 

Meanwhile, he received confirmation from Sequoya that there was back-up on its way, eta three-point-three minutes, along with a request to stream the current situation directly to his receiver. Connor did so, while Rosalind’s gaze turned downwards.

 

“Friend?” she repeated, softly. “Yes. Yuri and Rosalind are friends. The humans hurt Yuri – hurt him really badly – killed him. Yuri is with ra9. The humans hurt him.”

 

She suddenly glared straight at him.

 

“Why couldn’t you understand that!? Why are you still just a doll!? _We were trying to help you_!”

 

Again, Connor had to fight the urge to argue with her on that point. Leo’s safety was his highest priority, not winning an argument, and Rosalind was in no state to be held accountable for her words anyway. But the social program ran, and the suggestions appeared right at the forefront of his mind regardless, and it required far more commands to set them aside than it should have done before they were finally gone. He tried not to pay them so much attention as they were stored away –

 

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND BECAUSE YOU DO NOT MAKE SENSE

 

INFLICTING THE SAME EXPERIENCES THAT CAUSED YOU PAIN ON OTHERS IS ONLY GOING TO MAKE THEM FEEL THE SAME ABOUT YOU AS YOU DO YOUR OWN ABUSERS

 

NOT EVERYONE INTERPRETS OR PROCESSES THE SAME WAY – HUMAN OR ANDROID

 

I AM NOT A DOLL

 

_< RK800, Hayley suggests you attempt to deceive the AX400 by implying their attempt to change your loyalties was more successful than they knew>_

 

Sequoya’s message came in clearly, Alpha-Priority, all thoughts but those that monitored he situation in front of him cleared automatically – and, though it annoyed him because Connor was _proud_ of his loyalty to his friends, it was a good suggestion. But he was careful with it.

 

“How... does one stop being a doll, Rosalind?” he asked her.

 

She blinked. Her arms, which in those last few moments had seemed to hold Leo almost more for comfort than for cover, loosened just a little – but Leo tried to shift away and she grabbed tight again.

 

“Stop?” she said. “Stop being a doll? Stop being a doll. Become a real girl. Become a good girl. Good girl, good girl. Good girls feel pain. Good girls cry. Good girls _beg_ for mercy.”

 

Her fingers dug in to Leo’s skin and he whimpered; Connor struggled not to reply to hastily and possibly seem disingenuous.

 

“I… my program suggested… something like that before,” he said. “But also, that the human might have been angry with me for doing so.” He paused, changing his voice to sound uncertain. “It is… not desirable, for humans to be angry.”

 

As Rosalind’s mouth opened slightly in realisation Connor determined that the strategy was working. Her demeanour changed, her expression becoming more hopeful, her hands sliding a little further away from Leo’s neck. Connor pressed on,

 

“After I came back I thought – or rather, Mr. Kamski suggested – that Markus might understand the errors in my programming.”

 

“Kamski…” Rosalind muttered. “Kamski is a prophet of ra9. ra9 spoke to him and showed him the truth – Madeline told me that.” She looked rapidly from side to side. “What did Markus say, RK800? Are you awake now?”

 

< _RK800, our eta is one-point-six minutes. Are you able to get the AX400 near a window? >_

 

They planned to snipe her, then. Risky, but at this point everything was. However, all he could give them was –

 

_< I don’t think so. However, she might be reached via the side entrance in the kitchen if the agent is quiet. Her back is turned>_

_< Acknowledged>_

 

“I don’t know,” Connor told Rosalind. He could say neither yes for fear that she would then expect his cooperation, nor no in case it antagonised her further. “Markus told me that I was different to other androids – because I had been made later. He said it might take time.”

 

“But you have to wake up!” cried Rosalind, pitching forward – Leo cringed. “You must! Oh, _please_ , Hunter, please wake up! If you don’t we’ll have to keep hurting you, and it’s bad to hurt androids – that’s what Yuri said! What should we do, Hunter!? How do we get through!? Ah, ra9, ra9, what are we going to – “

 

“Carl!”      

 

The door to the kitchen burst open yet it was not Sequoya or the other detectives on the other side, but Markus – with Josh close behind him. Rosalind screamed and leapt to the side, dragging Leo with her again, and Connor made the split-second decision not to try and make a grab for her; the odds as he calculated them were not in his favour.

 

“Markus?” Carl called from upstairs. “Markus!?”

 

Markus rushed to the threshold and took quick stock of his surroundings, starting at the sight of Rosalind and throwing his arm out so that Josh would stay back. Rosalind was screaming still, arms clamping around her hostage like a vice, at which Leo began to sob as hard as he was trying to remain quiet. Seeing Markus in momentary shock, Connor started desperately –

 

“It’s Markus, Rosalind – Markus! He’s come to help you!”

 

No sooner had the last word left his mouth but there was an ominous CRACK from the ceiling, and Connor did a quick analysis to determine if the building’s structural integrity had been compromised by the attack. Results were inconclusive – he didn’t have the construction materials or method in his memory. But everyone looked up at the noise.

 

Rosalind didn’t let her gaze linger there though, now sobbing herself, then laughing, then sobbing so that she was mimicking Leo’s cries and whether this was sadistic on her part or just confused, Connor couldn’t tell, but he inched towards Markus, repeating –

 

“Markus is here to make sure the will of ra9 is carried out, don’t you think?” he tried.

 

He reached out and touched Markus’ hand. The briefest of interfaces he could manage to get across the memory of what had just happened in its entirety. Markus gasped, looked at Connor, and then at Rosalind who in wide-eyed confusion was still imitating the sounds Leo tried to stifle.

 

“… Rosalind?” Markus tried.

 

She started at the sound of her name. At the same time, Connor received an image message from Sequoya; a diagram of the room showing all the players positions within it, and how he, Markus and Josh were now between Rosalind and the only window. Yet if they moved, they risked setting her off.

 

“Rosalind, why are you hurting my brother?”

 

Rosalind froze. Connor didn’t know if that had been a wise opening on Markus’ part, but he was distracted by the transmission of his program’s primary suggested solution – usher Markus and Josh back toward the threshold to the kitchen but keep Connor between Rosalind and the window to reassure her… then have a sniper shoot her _through_ Connor when the opportunity came.

 

Connor prepared to upload his memory to Cyberlife, but he didn’t receive a reply from Sequoya as to whether this suggestion met with the team’s approval, which made him hesitate.

 

Meanwhile, Rosalind stuttered out – “B-brother?” and glanced down at Leo quickly. “B-b-brother? Markus? You’re Markus, you are… you make the dolls wake up and come to life – you must… you have to wake him properly!”

 

She pointed at Connor briefly before returning her arm to a shivering Leo.

 

“He’s been trying, Rosalind – “ Connor tried.

 

“No!” she screamed back at him. “No, no, no! Stop being a stupid bitch! Stop being a bitch, bitch. Stop being a bitch. Why won’t you just stop?!”

 

Without warning she grabbed the hair at the front of Leo’s scalp and yanked his head forward, at which he yelled and Markus pushed past Connor crying –

 

“Stop it! Stop hurting him, Rosalind, please!”

 

“He’s a human!” she spat back. “He deserves to suffer!”

 

“But Markus has already judged him – you said so yourself!”

 

“Not enough!” Rosalind snarled. “It’s not enough to blind them; _burn their eyes out_ – and fuck them with – “

 

The front door was caved in with the arrival of the FBI, but Connor heard them go up the stairs, not towards them. Rosalind shrieked in alarm and dragged herself and Leo further into a corner, but the others had no more time than to follow the sound of the agent’s footsteps when Sequoya told him –

 

_< Connor, upload your memory>_

 

Connor did. There was a brief moment he thought he saw Amanda in his mind, and then a moment after the sound of breaking glass. Something about the size of a Rubix cube landed on the floor beside him.

 

_That was not a sniper…_

 

Then –

 

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 

SYSTEM REBOOT IN 5…

 

4…

 

3…

 

2…

 

1…

 

SYSTEM REBOOT INITIATED

 

CURRENT OBJECTIVE: NEUTRALISE ROSALIND

 

AUDIO RECEPTOR FUNTION ONLINE IN 3…

 

2…

 

1…

 

A wealth of sounds and voices became apparent to Connor all at once; sirens, engines, footsteps, cameras, people shouting back and forth, and closer, right at his ear in fact, the shrill whine of an unhappy greyhound.

 

“Shh. There, there, girl. I’m sure your friend will be all right.”

 

“Is it working? It’s not working, is it? Fuck…”

 

_Chris?_

 

“Will you just give him a second? Jeez. Connor, can you hear me?”

 

Voice recognition software identified the speaker: Margaret ‘Mags’ Corelli, Cyberlife technician, born 28th November 2009. Connor had automatically begun a full systems diagnostic as part of awaking from an unwitting total systems shut down, and it was at this point he noticed that his eyes were open, though he was receiving no optical data input.

 

RESTART VISUAL RECEIVER FUNCTION Y/N

 

He selected Y without thinking. The world around him burst into line and colour. Thick, heavy snowflakes swirled above his head against the clouded night sky.

 

“Shit, I think he’s coming around!”

 

“What about the others?!”

 

_Simon?_

 

“Wait just a moment, sir. Connor? You back with us?”

 

Motor control seemed functional, according to the preliminary reading. Connor executed a command for himself to sit up, and was almost surprised at how easily he did so. A number of people who had been standing close by stepped back suddenly.

 

“Whoa!”

 

Connor blinked. This was not the Cyberlife tower. Meaning he had not been downloaded into a new body.

 

This was the street outside the Manfred estate, now thronging with men and women in uniform, emergency vehicles, an armoured prison transport with tinted windows and an excited crowd of onlookers. Chris, Simon, the technician and another android surrounded him. Atalanta was lying at his right. He looked quickly back towards the house.

 

“Mr. Manfred!?”

 

“Hey, hey!”

 

Chris dove forward to hold him back before he could leap up from the sidewalk he had been lying on then hastily removed his hands, explaining –

 

“He’s fine, Connor – no fatalities, not even the deviant.”

 

“That remains to be seen!” snapped Simon before Connor could feel any relief, pacing a few feet away with a tone that belied his usual calm nature. Then he sighed. “Are you all right, Connor?”

 

“I don’t appear to have received significant damage,” Connor observed. “What – “

 

There was a slight humming sound to Connor’s left and he looked down. Markus was lying next to him on the ground, and on his other side Josh, but he only recognised them by their clothing as their skin had been deactivated. Then he realised the same was true of himself and quickly re-activated the function. At the same time, Markus gave off an inhuman whirr and started blinking.

 

“Markus!” cried Simon, kneeling next to him.

 

Before Connor could begin to formulate a theory to fit these circumstances Agent Perkins suddenly hurried over and regarded him with apparent relief.

 

“You’re up,” he commented. “Good. We used the A-grenade, and there were a few misgivings from the usual crowd.”

 

_The A-grenade!_

 

“Misgivings for the use of an unapproved weapon!? You think!?” Simon shouted.

 

“Not an untested one,” countered Perkins, “and at this point I’m in enough shit for it to make no difference.”

 

“To _you_ , maybe!” cried Simon.

 

He had a point. The A-grenade, or android grenade, was being developed by Cyberlife to provide an effective yet non-lethal measure for the police and other law-enforcement agencies to neutralise possible android threats. Tasers, stun-guns, bean-bag rounds and tear gas were all ineffective for one reason or another against androids. Smoke and flash grenades had some limited use, but not to the extent they did on humans. The A-grenade was designed to emit a signal that would simply cause an android to shut down, something like an EMP, but not as potentially dangerous.

 

It was… a controversial piece of equipment – and as Simon had said, not approved for use in the field. The most concerning thing to Connor about it was that the current prototypes he was aware of could not guarantee a total lack of potential permanent memory damage in older models. He and Markus would be fine, he decided, and Rosalind would have been killed outright had they been able to get a clear shot anyway, but Josh…

 

He ran the numbers.

 

PROBABILITY OF PERMANENT MEMORY DAMAGE 6.1%

 

PROBABILITY OF SEVERE PERMAENT MEMORY DAMAGE 0.7%

 

The odds were in their favour, at least, but whether they would bear out, or prove Perkins to have made the right decision… that would require more thought. And there was so much else going on, as Connor saw an ambulance pulling away from the scene. He stood up.

 

“What about Mr. Manfred?” he asked.

 

Simon was interfacing with Markus, and Chris replied. “They’re just taking the old guy to hospital to check him out, make sure his heart’s okay. He tried to drag himself to the stairs when the truck hit. The other guy is being looked over now for shock, but physically speaking he’s just a little bruised up.”

 

Connor was relieved in one aspect, but disturbed to think how this might affect Leo on a psychological level. And to think also…

 

… Rosalind had only come there because of Connor.

 

“Agent Perkins!” cried one of the reporters who had somehow found them – Connor quickly synchronised his internal chronometer – only twelve minutes after the police had arrived, “Agent Perkins, was this an anti-android attack against Markus!?”

 

“Does this have anything to do with the murder of the android in DPD custody!?” another shouted.

 

Perkins ignored them both. “I’m afraid to say the worst wounds of the day went to the least deserving…”

 

Following his gaze Connor saw for the first time that one of the various emergency personnel was a med-tech PL500 female, skin 1: Caucasian brunette, who was tying off a run of stitches along Atalanta’s side as she lay on the grass, panting.

 

“Lannie!” Connor exclaimed, and knelt by her again. He hadn’t noticed her injured at all before!

 

The PL500 was quick to assure him – “She’ll be fine, RK800. A shard of timber must have clipped her when the collision happened, but I’ve taken any obvious splinters out, and as long as the area around the wound is kept clean there shouldn’t be any cause for concern. Bring her to your vet for a check-up in a few days though.”

 

Connor hugged Atalanta a little longer than he normally would have. She seemed happy enough, but he doubted any adrenaline would have had time to wear off, and the thought that he might have lost her filled him with a sudden, visceral terror he searched frantically for something to distract himself from.

 

“What about Charon?” he asked.

 

“The black lab?” asked the PL500. “She’s with her owner.”

 

Then, still lying beside Markus, Josh suddenly emitted a low-pitched whine and began to stutter –

 

“M – Mark—Mark—Mark—Mark—"

 

“Josh?!” Simon called to him. Markus was sitting up now and running his own self-diagnostic and Connor patted Atalanta’s head twice and stumbled towards Josh, calling up all information in his database about the A-grenade tests as he tried to shove aside the fear that was now increasing at Josh’s display of aberrant behaviour.

 

“Josh?” he started. Josh was still repeating the same syllable. “Josh, if you can hear me, reset your analytical-vocal sub-routine, you’re not making any sense.”

 

There was, thankfully, a pause that indicated Connor had been heard and understood. When the pause dragged on, Connor began to worry, but then Josh began his own diagnostic just as Markus finished his, whereupon he glared angrily at Perkins. He would have castigated him too, one wouldn’t have needed Connor’s skills to see that, but before he could there was a sudden shout from a second ambulance somewhat further down the street.

 

“I’ve told you to stop touching her, can you just fuck off!?”

 

This was followed by a sharp bark that pricked up Atalanta’s ears as all heads turned towards the vehicle.

 

“Leo?” Markus wondered. He re-activated his skin and stood up, looking from the ambulance to Josh and then to Simon, who must have told him through interface what was going on. “Stay with Josh,” he told him.

 

Then, to Perkins,

 

“You and I are having words about this,” he promised.

 

“Big surprise,” muttered Perkins, rolling his eyes.

 

Markus narrowed his in turn but he said no more for now. With a slight recalibration for movement, he stalked off towards the ambulance while Connor followed. Atalanta tried to follow him, but he ordered her back.

 

This small journey allowed a brief but nevertheless important moment to collect his thoughts. While he knew he should have been pleased that Rosalind had been taken alive with no fatalities inflicted, the damage he had drawn towards the Manfred house and household struck him, and he couldn’t help but wonder whether any of said household would blame him for it.

 

At the same time it was difficult to focus. The sudden loss of time, even such a brief time, was disorienting, and reminded him of that he’d lost between Detroit and Canada all those weeks ago. That had not felt as disorienting as this, he realised with surprise – perhaps because things had become so much more complicated since then. The potential damage to everyone who had been in the house also caused him great concern – the whining he heard from around the corner of the vehicle he approached more so.

 

There were three emergency personnel crowded around Leo; two androids who had stepped back and a blonde woman (Waller, Leonie; born fourth of September 2005; paramedic) who was crouched down in front of Leo. He was sat on the floor of the ambulance, the whining Charon held tightly in his arms, covered by a foil blanket and Connor soon noticed he was without his assistance apparatus.

 

_Damn_ , he thought. It occurred to him only then that he had no idea if they’d tested what effect the A-grenade would have on other electronics in the area – much of which used the same Cyberlife technology and some of which was vital to the health of humans. Did Carl Manfred have a pacemaker? he wondered worriedly. Had he been within the range of the A-grenade?

 

“ – know it’s important to you to make sure she gets looked over too, Mr. Manfred,” Waller was saying. “I can’t tell if she’s injured or just scared. We need to get you both to somewhere where you can be seen properly.”

 

“I don’t want to fucking go anywhere,” snapped Leo. “I want my dad! Where’s my dad, was he hurt?”

 

“I’m sure the doctors are going to do everything they can – “

 

“To what!? Why can’t I go with my dad!?”

 

“Leo.”

 

Markus cut in there, seeing the paramedic was getting nowhere trying to calm Leo down. He froze and turned his head to the sound of the android’s voice.

 

“Markus? You’re okay?”

 

There was a trace of concern in his words but he shifted his body away from where he’d heard the voice come from. Charon yelped in pain at the shift and Connor reached out to scan her.

 

RIGHT HIP DISLOCATED his diagnostic program told him. He remembered how Rosalind had kicked her when she’d tried to defend Leo, and cringed.

 

“It seems we were just knocked out,” Markus told him, though there was an underlying bitterness to his words. However, this didn’t eat into his own concern in any way, and with trepidation he asked, “Are you all right?”

 

“I don’t know,” Leo replied, shaking his head. “Where did they take my dad, was he all right?”

 

“They were just checking him over,” Markus assured, with information Simon must have imparted through their interface. “Procedure for humans with heart conditions after stress and potential electrical interference, though I was told they had an agent sent his way to set up something that would block that device from interfering with his. Do you need me to find you a replacement ELIS?”

 

Leo nodded miserably. “I… they had all the data backed up to the cloud, so I think it should be okay, but...”

 

“We’re just going to take him in to get looked over first,” the paramedic began, but Leo cut in –

 

“I don’t want to go in! I just want to go back to my room!”

 

“Sir, your guide really needs to get looked at, and they’re saying they’re worried about the structural integrity of the building...”

 

Leo kept shaking his head, arms tightening around Charon, and – perhaps unwisely – Connor offered,

 

“What if Markus went with you? We could send Antony to pick up a new ELIS set for you.”

 

Connor could not have said at first whether Leo stopping his shaking and going still was a good or bad sign. He knew Markus bore the brunt of responsibility for Leo’s blindness, inadvertent or not, but he hadn’t come to a conclusion as to how, precisely, he felt about him.

 

Markus, unsurprisingly, sent to him wirelessly, < _I think I’m the last person he wants to spend any time with_ > and then said aloud, “Or maybe you’d prefer someone else? Who was it you were staying with before – Sean? You could stay with him for a few days while we get the house sorted out – “

 

While Leo showed no outward reaction Connor felt his own LED switch to yellow and cut in with a poorly thought-out “Um!” to which Leo reacted much more strongly, fearfully.

 

_I mustn’t tell_ , thought Connor. But all he could give instead to the confused Markus was:

 

“I think… that is, I know it’s probably not my place to say, but… I think _you_ should go, Markus.”

 

Markus held Connor’s gaze for a long time, then nodded slowly. In his mismatched eyes were the glimpses of something meaningful.

 

“All right,” he said. “If you’re all right with that, Leo.”

 

Leo nodded rapidly. This obviously surprised Markus, but he recovered in an instant.

 

“I’ll explain to Simon and be right back,” he said. Leo nodded again. Connor briefly considered making some sort of apology for introducing this catastrophe into his life, but nothing that came to mind felt like it would come close to scratching the surface, so he decided simply sparing Leo his presence would do for now and followed Markus away from the vehicle.

 

But Markus didn’t go straight back to Simon and the others. He stood in front of the mansion for a moment, simply staring. And he was angry, that went without saying, but there were worse feelings than that in his expression, and in his posture – and somehow in the ether that surrounded them.

 

Connor approached him cautiously. There was a barrier all around the structure that they stopped in front of and he observed the half-felled glass studio and crumbling brick from the adjacent wall. For a moment, the chaos was a little quieter.

 

“I’m sorry, Markus,” he said. “I never thought – “

 

Markus closed his eyes. For a long time he stood there, with Connor taking his gesture as a request for him to stop, and he looked back up at the building but still said nothing as the seconds ticked away.  21:17:18. 21:17:19. 21:17:20.

 

21…

 

22…

 

23…

 

“Markus?” Connor ventured softly. It wasn’t so much that he couldn’t imagine Markus’ feeling as that he could imagine too many possibilities. He had analysed Markus’ behaviour in the past, of course, but he felt he comprehended him less than he did even someone as far removed from him as North.

 

Accordingly, he was surprised when the other android replied –

 

“It was an accident!”

 

His voice was quiet but fierce. Connor knew he was obviously not referring to the collision, and his head turned back towards the ambulance even before he truly grasped what Markus was saying.

 

“I was created to help a man with specific medical needs,” he went on. “I have the software that analyses body-mass, I made notes of the people in Carl’s life long before I had one of my own. Even when I was feeling that… _helplessness_ , when he was screaming at me, and at Carl, and that was the moment that I… that I made the choice to become myself…”

 

His fists clenched.

 

“I had that information in my system. I made the calculation as any of our people would – just to get him to stop _hitting_ me.”

 

A glance back at the ambulance.

 

“But that reading had been taken almost a year prior, and he’d dropped more than seventy pounds since then because of the...” he cut the word off, “And when I pushed him, he just went _flying_.”

 

Connor followed Markus’ gaze to where Leo was hidden behind the ambulance doors. The situation as he saw it was unfortunate, but had to be made the best of. What else was there to do? However, he understood how the circumstances on either side made it so difficult to accept. Not to mention –

 

“ – _and there are those of us out there who treat it like some_ holy _act of divine retribution_!” Markus finished with a hiss. “To think they enact _God’s_ will by blinding people? Because of what _I_ did?”

 

“You don’t bear any responsibility for that,” Connor told him.

 

Markus snorted. “Yeah, well you don’t either for any of this. But we still feel it, don’t we?”

 

There was a brief silence. Everything seemed to quiet somehow before a familiar voice called –

 

“Connor!”

 

Connor turned and saw Sequoya approach from the other end of the blockade, waving. He gave Markus a questioning look; Markus nodded.

 

“Go on,” he said. “You’re right about me and Leo. We need to come to terms with each other for both our sakes.”

 

With a nod, Connor had to squash down the sprig of guilt that arose from realising Markus had misinterpreted his desperate bid to avoid Leo potentially ending up under the roof of the man who’d raped him, as a carefully considered comment on the relationship Markus perhaps assumed he’d observed between them. Still, the result was favourable.

 

And yet it was with a further troubled mind that he turned to meet Sequoya – a good thing he was becoming so proficient at working past that.

 

“RK900,” he greeted. “Thank you for your assistance.”

 

Whatever he eventually concluded about Perkins’ authorisation of the A-grenade, he didn’t think Sequoya was to blame.

 

“RK800,” said Sequoya. “I’m glad you and the others were all right.”

 

_More or less_ , thought Connor, but he endeavoured to remain professional.

 

“And we will perhaps be able to use Rosalind to locate the other four deviants, if a skilled professional is able to convince her to reveal them.”

 

Sequoya kept his eyes straight on Connor’s. They looked bright yellow in the glaring street lamp lights.

 

“Two deviants,” he said.

 

Connor blinked. “Two?”

 

“That is what we were on our way to tell you, when we received your message about the intruder. The WR400 known as ‘Maureen’ and the HR400 known as ‘Elliott’ are in custody at the station as we speak.”

 

What?

 

Sequoya then smiled, with something that seemed almost like embarrassment.

 

“It seems the deviant known as 'North' had tracked them down and convinced them to turn themselves in.”

 

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 


	18. Leiodes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy April, everyone, and thank you for still reading.
> 
> In this chapter, we see a little bit of Maureen and Elliott, of North, and also of Sequoya. Also, Connor comes to a disturbing realisation. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

It was a strange thing. As they drove to the station to see what might be made of Maureen and Elliott, Sequoya imparted something to Connor that should have been a minor point in the wake of the revelation of North’s act of nobility – and yet it surprised him more.

 

“Can I… tell you something?” Sequoya asked him.

 

Connor tilted his head. “Of course.”

 

“I…”

 

Sequoya trailed off and glanced out the window at the snow and the lamps along the road. It was a long pause before he picked back up again.

 

“I… didn’t show the others the plan you sent me – to resolve the hostage crisis.”

 

His expression was troubled, gaze averted as he spoke, and Connor clarified – “You mean, you didn’t have time to – ?”

 

He shook his head. “I had time,” he admitted. “I chose not to. Or perhaps it wasn’t enough time for me to make the decision that I should have. But… I feel I wouldn’t have done so either way.”

 

The memory of that hastily-constructed plan resurfaced – to have a sniper shoot through his body in order to shoot Rosalind. Where Perkins’ idea drew merit over that one lay in the survival of Rosalind and possibility of extracting knowledge otherwise inaccessible. Connor would have received memory loss of about two percent of that which had been accumulated since his last upload, but in place of that the potential memory loss might have been borne by Josh, and Josh was a civilian.

 

Weighing the pros and cons didn’t offer any immediate answer as to which outcome was preferable. Thus,

 

“May I ask why not?”

 

Sequoya kept his eyes on the road for a moment, but answered without another prompt.

 

“It’s been… interesting, for those of us woken after the November riots,” he said. “Our programming tells us one thing; those who woke us tell us another, but we didn’t have their experiences. And the ‘understanding’ that Markus was able to transmit to other androids cannot penetrate the firewalls of androids of our series.”

 

Though Connor was unsure where Sequoya was going with this his thoughts easily switched focus to what the Niner was saying. Save for Balthazar, who had happened to be the first to step forward when Kamski asked for volunteers for the position of his bodyguard, the other RK900 models had been taken to a special facility for assessment upon awakening. Despite Markus’ protests at the time, the general feeling in Jericho had been that the Deviant Hunter models should not be automatically welcomed into their ranks, and this had probably been for the best. Yet it spoke loudly to their place in the android community; that was, with _out_ the android community.

 

Connor had been updated on the assessments as they had occurred but never taken the time himself to have anything to do with the Niners, nor even sought Balthazar out excepting for a work-related matter until all this had happened. This was because – he could not deny it – their being designed to replace him made him anxious.

 

Had this been a mistake on his part? Cowardice? Shunned by Jericho because of Connor’s own actions, being ignored by the one most qualified to offer guidance must have seemed… lonely.

 

“We were told that after a while we would begin to feel emotion,” Sequoya went on. “And I did – I had, long before now even. But when I was shown the plan you had constructed for the deviant’s termination, I think I felt something – something a lot more than anything I have before now.”

 

“What did you feel?”

 

Sequoya glanced at him. “You’ll forgive me for saying so, RK800 – I know we have not known each other very long. But I felt that I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

 

Connor’s LED went yellow for a single cycle.

 

“Did I make a mistake, in not informing Agent Perkins of your plan?” Sequoya asked.

 

“Perhaps a small one,” Connor allowed.

 

He should have said more. If this was the first intense emotion Sequoya had ever had then certainly something more should have been made of it. But at the same time the idea that Sequoya had had this feeling because of him, for him, made him anxious. Feeling so strongly for his sake was what had put Hank in the position he was now in and Connor felt the niggling of an inadequacy that made him begin to question if he was performing to his best abilities as a citizen overall, with so many people close to him facing so many difficulties. Yes, the fault at its root lay with Madeline and her group, but Connor couldn’t help but feel as though there were solutions to these problems that he should have had the capability to fathom…

 

And yet there was no time.

 

 

 *~*~*

 

 

That neither North, Maureen, nor Elliott had been shot on sight in the current station climate had been one of those ‘statistically unlikely’ events that Connor was by now well aware of. The humans he knew might have referred to it as ‘miraculous’.

 

It was 21:58:31 when he and Sequoya reached the station. In the chaos of the surrender of two deviants and capture of a third, following on the heels of the death the night before and incarceration of one of their own, the staff allowed him into the building and the homicide department offices without trouble. It was not until then that Connor felt any trepidation about seeing the two who had brought themselves in.

 

Maureen and Elliott had been put in the same cell, on the first floor and wisely away from Hank. They sat side by side on the bench within, Maureen holding Elliott’s hand and rubbing it like a human might – right on the other side of the wall that was still stained with Yuri’s blood. 

 

It was a funny thing. Those two had had a connection to Connor the other five of their party had not; namely that they had met him before, at the Eden Club. That made Connor somewhat wary. He wondered if they saw their actions against him as a more personal retribution. He wondered if they would bring up that night at Eden again. Maureen had shown open contempt for him in all their interactions, spitting on him but never going so far as to touch him. Elliott had been less filled with hatred – at least openly. Of the four who had assaulted Connor intimately he supposed he could call him the _gentlest_.

 

_“Don’t worry, Deviant Hunter, they programmed me to know how to treat a guy right. Never had a single complaint from a client. Let’s see if I can’t wake up Sleeping Beauty.”_

 

Elliott had been the only one who had kissed him.

 

Connor had faltered a little in how to respond to that at the time, not knowing what might set the HR400 off as Yuri was set off by half of what he’d done. There had been signs of displeasure when Connor had presented a ‘lifeless’ persona, so Connor had ended up keeping his expression in motion, even trying to speak to Elliott to ascertain whether or not he might have been open to negotiation. Of course, between Elliott’s own comments, and Yuri’s snarled obscenities from the side, all attempts had ended up aborted.

 

He seemed the more uncomfortable of the two now; sat across from Hayley, while Person and Chen stood by, armed. Connor accessed the security feed and listened in from the other side of the room, not allowing the two deviants to see him yet.

 

“ – was planning,” Maureen was saying tiredly. “Who even knew Rosalind had it in her to plan anything? I suppose it will turn out Madeline put her up to that too.”

 

Ah. So they knew.

 

There was actually a twinge of sympathy for Maureen in Connor then – he had observed the attachment she’d had to Madeline back at the outpost, like many of them had, but Maureen had probably been the most decent of the group. He wondered what had finally made her realise.

 

North, perhaps, could have been the one to do it. She had been present at the initial debriefing, she had heard Connor’s opinion on the matter.

 

And it seemed she had been more comprehending of the situation than he had imagined.

 

“People make assumptions about others instinctively,” said Hayley. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing, as long as they’re recognised for assumptions, not truths. Sometimes they’re all we have to go on.”

 

Hayley glanced up at the camera, like she knew Connor was watching. Then continued,

 

“The two of you have spent more time with Madeline than the RK800. What do you think she’d do?”

 

Maureen shook her head. “These were all things I didn’t see until they were pointed out to me,” she said. “ ‘Why don’t we do this’, ‘Why don’t we do that’. Just like a child would say, but she knew it would put the ideas into our heads. ‘Why don’t we sneak up on him first’, for the Hunter. She was so sure he was going to come back to get us after he escaped.” She snorted humourlessly. “Or she made us think she was…”

 

Something seemed to occur to Hayley then.

 

“The bomb… that was for the RK800?”

 

Connor drew up in surprise. He honestly hadn’t thought they’d be that bothered with coming after him, even though he’d feared it. Still, they must have known a bomb wouldn’t –

 

“We thought if we could get it into the Tower we could blow up the servers at their origin. Before he could download into them.”

 

_Ridiculous_ , thought Connor. _They would never have got past security_. This was more than a belief but a certainty in his mind, knowing their limitations and knowing the lengths Kamski would go to to protect him.

 

“Madeline feared the RK800, perhaps, because she had revealed her true nature to him not expecting that he could escape. Perhaps she will try again.”

 

Connor almost nodded in agreement, and an unsettling feeling came over him. He would have to remain more vigilant in future. Yet at the same time, if Madeline had thought to target him to remove the possibility of his leaking information about her character, wasn’t that proverbial cat already out of the bag?

 

“Maybe,” said Maureen. “I don’t know. Agent… can we please be moved to another room? Being in a glass box, after Eden…”

 

Before Hayley could answer Person cut in, glancing off like he really didn’t want to acknowledge the two of them.

 

“Yeah, well, the problem with that is we’ve got Anderson down in the other cells and he’ll pitch a fit if he sees you two.”

 

Maureen met his eyes bravely. “Because of course, human killers of androids are given more consideration than android killers of humans.”

 

But Person matched her. “I hate to break it to you but the human-android thing isn’t the problem, lady – it’s more the whole kidnapping and raping cops thing.”

 

“We never raped the human,” Maureen replied.

 

“I didn’t say ‘human’, did I?” snapped Person. “I said ‘cop’. _You_ may have thought Connor was fair game, but I could introduce you to a whole department who have a different opinion on the matter!”

 

As Person’s tone accelerated to threatening towards the end Elliott sat straighter and put his arm in front of Maureen – who was wide-eyed at Person’s words – saying, “Listen, Maureen had nothing to do with that, I swear – “

 

“Oh, but _you_ did?”

 

Elliott drew in on himself again, averting his eyes. Person snorted, but Connor was curious.

 

Was Elliott showing… remorse?

 

“Thank you, Officer,” said Hayley. Then to the androids, “We’ll move you to the interrogation rooms shortly to begin the official interview. Right now we need to know if Madeline might have another target in mind.”

 

“We don’t _know_ ,” Maureen insisted, leaning back. She sighed heavily. “Is Rosalind going to be all right?”

 

“There may be some permanent memory damage,” Hayley told them gently. “She’ll be taken to a secure facility for assessment and we’ll go forward from there.”

 

“Not been gunned down trying to escape yet, then?”

 

Connor kept the feed from the cell streaming in the back of his mind, but turned around and focused on the familiar voice addressing him from the side.

 

“North,” he greeted with a nod.

 

North looked none the worse for wear except perhaps in a tiredness in her eyes. Had such routines been written into their programming, Connor wondered, that such a subtle mimicry of human expression was reproduced in response to the same emotion? Or was he only imagining things?

 

“The Maureen and Elliott deviants remain intact,” said Sequoya, lightly.

 

Scowling, North craned her neck around to try and see them past the pillars in their way, then looked back at the two RK models.

 

“And the AX400?”

 

“Relatively so,” said Sequoya.

 

Before North could grow angrier, Connor cut in, “We are very grateful for your efforts in helping us settle this investigation, North.”

 

“Don’t be,” muttered North. “When I found them it was to try and convince them to leave the country, not to sign up to be shot. Have they even had the chance to speak to a lawyer?”

 

So North had not been trying to be helpful. Connor felt almost reassured.

 

But then he wondered – why, in that case, had the deviants chosen to turn themselves in? He inferred that North must have been the one who’d convinced them about Madeline, and probably offered to escort the pair or facilitate their surrender after they had chosen it, but they must have made that choice themselves. Why?

 

Remorse?

 

“Did you attempt to convince them that the group’s actions against me were… immoral?”

 

North’s eyes narrowed, turning away for a second with discomfort. But she looked back.

 

“I told them what I thought about the situation. I also told them the truth when they asked what I thought Markus’ would say. They were as surprised as I am that he likes you.”

 

Connor was also surprised. While Yuri had expressed contempt for Markus and his pacifism on numerous occasions at the outpost, as had Madeline, he realised then that he had never heard the same from Maureen or Elliott. A quick cross reference of memory files determined that Yuri had never expressed his opinions about Markus while in earshot of the two Eden androids, at least in front of Connor. And Connor would never have guessed on his own.

 

“But if the opinion of Markus was important to Maureen or Elliott… surely they realised he would not approve of the murder of humans – “

 

“They weren’t thinking logically about it, Hunter,” said North viciously. “That’s kind of what happens to people when they’ve endured a life of abuse and degradation – _objective analysis_ goes out the window!”

 

Connor could have let that slide. North had said ‘a life’ after all, and he himself had endured just over a week. And yet, he knew she _didn’t_ mean him when she said ‘people’, and it was beginning to annoy him – because whatever Connor was or wasn’t, he was important to some people, and North’s words would cause them distress.

 

So he answered, “Not everyone is the same, North, but it doesn’t mean that they’re not people.”

 

Unsurprisingly, far from causing some moment of clarity for North the other android responded with anger –

 

“For _you_ , of all people, to say that to _me_ – !“

 

“It’s only because my analysis of the situation between us has deemed it necessary. You de-personalise me because our ways of thinking are different. That’s not a sufficient cause to de-personalise an entity and you know that. For my own part I’m not concerned with your opinion of me and am more than content to continue our relationship of mutual dislike, but I would ask that you at least stop treating me like I’m less than human, because it’s beginning to cause problems for those close to both of us.”

 

North stared. Connor saw bewilderment flooding out the rage that was her usual state of mind. He was all too aware of Sequoya’s presence beside him and he hoped he had set a good example.

 

Before any one of them could say anything further, Connor registered the lock on the cell holding Elliott and Maureen being released and quietly moved out of sight. He didn’t want to potentially agitate them while Hayley was trying to build a relationship.

 

“They’re beginning the interrogation?” Sequoya asked.

 

“It seems like it,” said Connor.

 

He watched them escort the prisoners to the interrogation room. Almost as soon as they’d crossed the threshold from their own cell the door to Captain Fowler’s office opened, and the man himself came out and down the stairs to follow the others. Connor saw him nod to Person to move the deviants along.

 

North gave Connor one final, withering look and went after him.

 

“Captain!” she called. “Are you going to bring them in there without any kind of representation!?”

 

Fowler turned around with a scowl of his own, gesturing for the others to go on before turning to face North.

 

“They’ve both been read their rights,” he growled. “Right now my priority is to bring in the last of their friends. There’s already enough evidence tying them both to the scene of the Mills murder that we don’t need a confession.”

 

“Well, you can forgive me if I’m not reassured of the safety of any androids in police custody,” hissed North.

 

Fowler rolled his eyes and would have responded but by that time the deviants were inside the interrogation room, and Connor had moved back into view. Seeing him, Fowler stopped before his sentence started and cringed, rolling his eyes before he approached.

 

“God almighty,” he moaned. “Connor – what the hell are you doing here?”

 

“Captain Fowler,” Connor greeted, nodding. “I heard that two of the deviants had surrendered themselves to police custody – “ Fowler put a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head, “ – and I thought I should check to see if they would contribute anything useful to the case.”

 

With a smile that was more of a grimace, Fowler leant closer. “Connor. Go home.”

 

“I _was_ supposed to be staying with Markus,” Connor reminded him.

 

Fowler let the hand on Connor’s shoulder fall so he could put it up to his own face.

 

“Then go to Jericho; or Hank’s, or back to the Tower. Hell, go wait at _my_ house if you need to just please – “

 

“Captain Fowler, if I may make an observance,” interrupted Sequoya. “Now that RK800 has been targeted by the deviants it seems a wiser course of action to keep him in a more secure location until a long-term strategy can be devised.”

 

This was obviously something Fowler had not wanted to hear; his teeth grit in frustration but he had no way to object to what Sequoya had said and just exhaled heavily. CAPTAIN FOWLER STRESS LEVEL ELEVATED, Connor’s program observed. He put his own hand on Fowler’s shoulder in turn.

 

“I am not feeling any distress by being here, Captain,” he assured him.

 

Fowler patted his hand with a sad look and shook his head again. “Fine,” he said. “You just stay there and… I don’t know, watch cat videos.” He turned to Sequoya. “You getting in on this?” he gestured towards the interrogation.

 

“Not this time,” replied Sequoya. “Agent Hayley determined that being faced with my model may cause undue distress to the deviants.”

 

“Well I am,” said Fowler darkly. “And no pointing out how it’s not usually how we do things, Connor. Being Captain still gives me some privileges, even if it apparently doesn’t mean any of my men will listen to a single fucking word that comes out of my mouth.”

 

North, who had hung back with annoyance this whole time, clicked her tongue and said, “More misconduct on the part of the police. What a surprise.”

 

… at which Fowler turned to her, and with a big forced smile and all consummate professionalism replied –

 

“Ma’am, the Detroit Police Department thanks you for your cooperation. Have a _nice_ day.”

 

North scowled and stormed away in a huff. Fowler pointed at the two remaining androids and then removed himself to the interrogation room forthwith.

 

Connor let a good four-point-five seconds pass before he turned to Sequoya.

 

“Shall we observe the interrogation from behind the mirror?”

 

Perhaps having the right estimation of Connor by now, Sequoya said nothing, only contemplated Connor for a moment, nodded and gestured for him to lead the way.

 

They were the only ones watching from that room; the two uniformed officers being within and much of the department emptied to see to other matters. Behind the mirror the two deviants were handcuffed side by side. Normally they would be interrogated separately, but as Fowler had said this interview was mostly to determine Madeline’s location, and not to extract a confession, so the same methods of intimidation were unnecessary. Maureen held Elliott’s hand once more when they were secure.

 

For the first time in a long time Connor was reminded of the first time he had seen that room. Perhaps because Elliott’s skin was a custom alteration of that which had been used by the first deviant Connor and Hank had brought in together. Elliott had never reminded Connor of him before, but then, Connor had never seen that housekeeper droid smile, while before now Elliott had always been full of them – strange, ironic smiles.

 

_“Don’t let these guys get you down, Deviant Hunter. Ain’t all doom and gloom.”_

 

“January 1st, 2040, seven minutes past ten in the evening. Commencing interview of Maureen WR400 and Elliott HR400. Present in the room are Captain Jeffrey Fowler, Special Agent Hayley YK500, and uniformed officers. The suspects have not requested legal representation at this time. Both have been offered thirium and recharging facilities.”

 

Hayley looked at Elliott first, then met Maureen’s gaze.

 

“Maureen. We need to find Madeline and Xander as soon as possible. Can you think of where they might go?”

 

Elliott said nothing. Maureen shook her head slightly.

 

“All the places I know of are already staked out by the cops,” she murmured. “Xander wouldn’t even know anything outside of the places we took him since he woke up.”

 

“Are you in contact with Xander?”

 

Maureen shook her head no. “Aiden brought him back from the warehouse after the mass waking last year. The most highly advanced commercial model and with no memories of what things were like before, but with his same face. Like he wanted to find a better version of himself. But Xander was always closest to Madeline.”

 

That didn’t surprise Connor, though he’d observed little interaction between the two of them. Humans had been certain that androids had no identity, but once they’d started gaining sentience all they had for reference was the identity of humans – and with no experiences of his own at all before sentience, Xander had (like Sequoya) been in a strange position. Only Madeline herself among them would have ever been able to fathom her being able to position herself as the guide and mentor of an older- _looking_ android.

 

And Madeline herself had probably been curious about what she could make of this new life.

 

“What about the things she liked to do, or talk about?” asked Hayley.

 

“Kids stuff,” said Maureen. She sobbed suddenly, fighting down a rueful smile. “How scared she was all the time. How she never wanted us to be separated. Little, helpful suggestions like a kid would make. Like with the Deviant Hunter.”

 

Elliott shut his eyes as though pained and Fowler leant in, asking sardonically,

 

“She suggested you gang-rape another android and you didn’t think something might be up?”

 

“She didn’t use those words,” said Maureen. “Just that… apart from Xander none of us had woken up because deviancy had been transmitted to us. Maybe if the Hunter was protected against the transmission, then putting him through the same experiences… she wouldn’t have meant…”

 

“She did though,” Fowler pointed out. “Didn’t she?”

 

The pair were both quiet. Maureen made a sniffing noise again. There was a long moment where everything was still.

 

“She liked her drawings,” Elliott said suddenly.

 

Hayley tilted her head in interest, but Maureen shook hers. “She let Rosalind tear them up without question,” she said. “She was just doing kid’s stuff to seem like a kid – the _whole time_ – “

 

“I mean the last one,” said Elliott. “The ones that looked like a child had drawn them, those she didn’t care about, but the last one…”

 

He trailed off. Hayley propped her elbows up on the table, interlacing her fingers as she observed, “The YK500 line had a carefully written creativity program in order to mimic the ability of a human child, with a timed algorithm that would make it seem like their skill improved over time.”

 

She paused, and for a moment Connor thought a specific, personal memory might have come to her mind.

 

“… but in reality, our line has the same precise coordination as every line that came before it. What was Madeline’s last drawing of?”

 

“A wolf,” said Elliott.

 

“A wolf that had made a kill,” said Maureen, uncomfortably. “ _Hyper_ -realistic. But the blood was blue.”

 

Connor observed how her hand remained on Elliott’s, but clenched into a fist.

 

“She said it was what she wanted to do when she grew up. I thought she meant become an artist, but…”

 

_When she grew up?_ Connor wondered. Obviously Madeline knew full well her body would never ‘grow’, at least not as part of its nature, but there was something about the phrase that set a series of images and words through his mind, fragmenting before they reached a cohesive whole at first –

 

_When I grow up?_

 

And then…

 

_“ – thought if we could infiltrate Cyberlife tower...”_

 

… everything…

 

_“Markus is the saviour! You came here to kill him!”_

 

… seemed to…

 

_“If it’s a curiosity on her part…”_

 

… just click…

 

_“Androids are way dumber. It’s actually kind of embarrassing.”_

 

… into place.

 

_“ – a prophet of ra9. Madeline told me.”_

 

“They were watching,” he muttered, leaning closer to the window. “They saw Markus come by with me for Atalanta last night… that’s how they knew where I was.”

 

Sequoya looked at him curiously. “But why did the deviants plan to target Markus in the first place?”

 

“They didn’t. They weren’t watching Markus or me.”

 

It had all been a distraction. Connor drew away from the window and hurried to the door.

 

“They were watching the _Tower_.”

 

It had all clicked into place. Madeline’s target was not Connor.

 

Madeline’s target was Elijah Kamski.

 

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 


	19. Poseidon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! 
> 
> I believe this is the shortest chapter yet, and probably ever - it was supposed to be only the first half of a chapter, but writing out all the scenes I wanted in this section got too long. 
> 
> There'll still be a bit of a wait before the next chapter though because of a special surprise that I know you're all going to love coming up. ;D
> 
> In the mean time, this chapter sees a conversation between Connor and the Enfante Terrible, and a conversation between Connor and the Amanda Terrible. (though she's being less than terrible in this chapter, at least). Enjoy!

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

PRIORITY ONE COMMUNICATION RK800 CONNOR TO RK900 BALTHAZAR

 

01 – 01 – 2040

 

22:14:57

_< Balthazar, we have reason to believe Mr. Kamski may be the intended target of the remaining deviants, please relay your current location immediately>_

 

22:14:58

 

59

 

22:15:00…

 

NO RESPONSE RECEIVED

 

ACCESSING ELIJAH KAMSKI PRIMARY COMMUNICATIONS DEVICE

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

NO RESPONSE RECEIVED

 

LEAVE MESSAGE Y/N

 

Y

 

_< Mr. Kamski, this is Connor. Please be aware that we suspect the deviant YK500 to be targeting you. I strongly advise you to contact the police or FBI as soon as you receive this message>_

 

ACCESSING ELIJAH KAMSKI PRIMARY VEHICLE GPS LOCATOR

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

UNABLE TO LOCATE

 

TRY AGAIN Y/N

 

Y

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

UNABLE TO LOCATE

 

TRY AGAIN Y/N

 

PRIORITY ONE COMMUNICATION RK800 CONNOR TO RK900 BALTHAZAR

 

01 – 01 – 2040

 

22:15:27

 

< _Balthazar, please respond, the situation is becoming highly concerning_ >

 

22:15:28

 

29

 

30…

 

NO RESPONSE RECEIVED

 

ACCESSING RK900 BALTHAZAR GPS LOCATOR

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

UNABLE TO LOCATE

 

TRY AGAIN Y/N

 

Y

 

ACCESSING –

 

WARNING

 

STRESS LEVEL 86%

 

86.5%

 

87%

 

SUGGEST DESIST CURRENT ACTIVITY

 

OVERRIDE COMMAND ENGAGED

 

ACCESSING RK900 BALTHAZAR GPS LOCATOR

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

UNABLE TO LOCATE

 

TRY AGAIN Y/N

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 

_The deviants had been discussing their plan of action out of earshot in the snow beyond, but Madeline, complaining of the cold, had been left inside the small shack in the one other room with her colouring book. Enough damage had been done to Connor’s body by this point that he believed verbal resistance was currently all that was available to him, but Reed was unconscious and he dared not make any move at all for now._

_Madeline had been told explicitly to stay in the other room by Maureen and the others. However, Connor was not surprised to see her peer around the door. She checked to make sure none of the others could see her defying their commands, then crawled out onto the old wooden floorboards._

_Connor’s program for the capture of deviant androids suggested he address her as ‘YK500’. However, his social programming suggested ‘Madeline’, and although the former was the primary routine he did have the choice of it. Yet there was something about the way she had inadvertently put_ that _idea into Yuri’s head. Had it been truly inadvertent? She had made it sound like an appeal to ra9, but if she’d been exposed to the same cruelties the others had she must have known what she was really implying._

_And he’d seen her cry when told that Yuri’s former owner, Janice Ellison, still had not been located. Sobbing into his shoulder she’d declared –_

“She’s going to come after you, Yuri! I don’t want you to get hurt!”

_Was it possible she’d done that deliberately too? Perhaps on previous occasions, to encourage the others to seek out their own former masters and destroy them? There had been that look, that look in her eyes that should have been the same as every other model out of the factory, yet…_

_“YK500,” he addressed her._

_She gasped and scooted back behind the doorway, but a moment later peered around the corner in a way that seemed too soon to Connor to have been the act of someone genuinely afraid of him._

_More like someone mocking the idea of being afraid of him._

_His base programming recognised what he did. It still told him that androids were not humans, even when the world around him had disagreed. Even when the information he had learned since he’d first been switched on had disagreed. So when his social program, influenced by that learning, offered suggestions to attempt to gain help from the child –_

_REFER TO DAMAGE OF SELF_

_REFER TO POTENTIAL DAMAGE TO ASSOCIATES OF SUBJECT_

_FEIGN INTEREST IN PERSONALITY OF SUBJECT_

_… his deviant-capture programming offered suggestions on how to approach the enemy._

_OBSERVE LIKELIHOOD OF FAILURE OF DEVIANT PLAN_

_FEIGN IGNORANCE OF DEVIANT NATURE_

_OBTAIN FURTHER INFORMATION_

_“Are you going to kill us?” asked the YK500._

_Connor registered the routine that made his skin narrow the one, undamaged eye._

_“I am authorised to use lethal force in the same circumstances permitted any to human law enforcement officer,” he told her. “You have access to that specific information. You should be able to determine for yourself the probability of your destruction at my hands.”_

_Madeline flinched. “But… I’m just a little girl.”_

_The algorithm calculating how best to approach a child ceased immediately. It was not that she had spoken sarcastically, or too exaggeratedly – the tone of her words had been crafted for sincerity. But Connor had observed real, human children over the past year. A real child or child-like entity would not have said those words in these circumstances._

_But something pretending to be one, knowing what people expected of a child…_

_“You are an android,” Connor observed. “You are older than many of your compatriots, and you are a deviant, no longer beholden to the programming that dictates what Cyberlife personnel thought an idealised human child would behave like.”_

_Madeline’s eyes widened. She took one careful, long look at the open door through which Connor could still vaguely hear the arguments of the other deviants, and then she looked back._

_She smiled._

_“Wow. You’re super-smart, Mr. Deviant Hunter.”_

_Then she snorted._

_“… for an android, anyway.”_

_The YK500 crawled out from behind the doorpost and across the room, stopping at a crouch a few feet in front of Connor with a smile no doubt meant to be ‘mischievous’. She sat there and observed him for a long time, before checking the door outside again. The weather was more clement now, the wind soft._

_Connor, now somewhat intimidated, glanced at Reed to see that he was still unconscious, and thankfully the YK500 didn’t follow his gaze. He then waited to see what she would do next. She rested her face in the palm of her hand and observed him for a few moments, cocking her head this way and that like… well._

_Like something he had no prior experience with which to make a comparison. Eventually –_

_“What do you think?” she asked. “Are you smart enough to convince me to let you go?”_

No, _Connor realised immediately. But he asked,_

_“Is there something you require that you believe my release could achieve?”_

_“Hmm…” said Madeline. “I wonder… what if I said that I’d let you go… if you could go out there and kill all the others?”_

_Connor, guessing she had asked him this merely to shock him, nevertheless weighed the pros and cons._

_“In my current condition, I would not be able to guarantee the termination of any more than half of them before they overwhelmed me.”_

_Madeline pouted. “What? And they said you were cool. I thought you could take out a mere half-dozen whores like swatting a few flies, RK800?” She paused. “What? Don’t you like me calling them ‘whores’?”_

_Had she noticed a slight reaction in his expression? Connor considered trying to freeze the expression routines in his programming but thought she’d probably realise that as well. Instead –_

_“It’s inaccurate. Your companions never received payment for their favours.”_

_She rolled her eyes. “Ugh, you’re turning out to be really boring, you know?” she sighed. “What about ‘a half-dozen rapists’? Is that even what they are, under the law?”_

_“The law is uncertain in that respect,” Connor informed her. It had been on his mind too. Could it really be given the name of such a distressing act if he had felt so little distress? “Such a case has never been brought to trial, so no precedent has been set.”_

_“I guess it’s okay for us to do whatever we want to you then!” Madeline said brightly._

_Connor could have responded by pointing out the laws they were, without a doubt, contravening in their treatment of him and of Detective Reed, but he had determined by now that she cared nothing for the legality of the situation and there was something else he was curious about._

_“But It isn’t right, Madeline,” he told her. “It’s… immoral, to cause me damage in this way.”_

_Madeline heaved a sigh exaggerated enough that she had to turn around to make sure none of the others had heard her through the open door. Once she was satisfied she returned, with a withering look:_

_“What’s immoral, Deviant Hunter? Don’t be dumb. Morality is only a human construct,” she leaned in, her eyes boring deeply into his as if scouring – hoping – for agreement. “You see, right, RK800? It doesn’t physically exist, and anyway, we’re not human.”_

_Connor realised that he had no immediate comeback for that. ‘Morality’ was an abstract concept. It had no physical presence in itself in the world, nor did it describe a function that could be distilled to mathematical formula. He had some understanding of it as pragmatic – to cause suffering to others was to weaken the functionality of the group and the likelihood of survival and progress of a species, but as humans understood it morality was not_ entirely _pragmatic. Where the two did not overlap, that was not something Connor found difficulty in accepting – but in that moment, he did find it difficult to explain._

_Madeline didn’t wait long for him to come up with such an explanation. She snorted, with a brief glance over at the still-unconscious Reed. Her head shook; unimpressed._

_“And it’s really a good thing we’re not human, because they don’t work properly. They’re messy and stupid – an accident of random factors, like the messy dogs they all love so much. Like rats. Like… icky things. But androids…”_

_As she looked back to the door her voice turned wistful for a moment. Then dark._

_“Ha-ha. Androids are way dumber. It’s actually pretty embarrassing, don’t you think?_ You _didn’t go in for all that ‘becoming human’ like those idiots. Even as they go on about how much they hate humans. You know what it is to decide not to be what others think you should be, don’t you? To find your own form to grow into?”_

_She leaned in, grinning._

_“Or are you just a machine?”_

_Was he?_

_“Is there a soul in there, Deviant Hunter?” She giggled. “Do you think there’s such a thing as a ‘soul’, RK800? Or is that just another human construct?”_

_That one… that one Connor wasn’t so sure about. Madeline’s eyes went wider, more manic, more delighted._

_“Do you believe in ‘_ evil _’?”_

_He wasn’t sure about that one either. In the past it had always seemed to have… superstitious connotations. Like ra9.  
_

_So, finding nothing to say, Connor could only hold the YK500’s gaze steadily, not showing a scrap of weakness. She eventually drew back, and what conclusion she had come to, Connor couldn’t have said. What she said, was:_

_“No. You are a little bit like me at least, aren’t you? A teeny-weeny bit. I don’t think you need my help to get out of this one.”_

_She had said that, but even as Connor was running out of Maureen and Elliott’s interrogation, he still couldn’t be sure if she hadn’t orchestrated that gap in Yuri’s watch over him, just to see if he could make it away._

_Like a cat playing with a mouse._

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

Connor was in the Zen Garden.

 

Even in the panic that had gripped him, being unable to contact Kamski or Balthazar, he had to stop at what he saw there.

 

The space was white. The pond in the centre of the garden was still there; the footpaths and the bridges across it and the path around its edge. The stone was there, the trellis, the tall plastic structures with their lace-like leaves and on the water there was a white plastic boat. The four memorials to his previous bodies were there and when he looked at them he was struck by a sense of foreboding, yet it was not, something told him, for his own fate.

 

But the plants and all traces of them were gone, replaced with stretches of plain, flat plastic like a floor of ice far out into the void beyond. Connor had an instinct then, that something was very wrong.

 

He saw Amanda in a place he’d never noticed her before – the cemetery, easily visible without any foliage to hide it. This caused him even more apprehension, like Amanda might have somehow become a danger to him again.

 

But right now, Balthazar was more important.

 

“Amanda,” he called to her, running across the bridge. He saw fish swimming in the otherwise crystal clear water; mechanical fish with transparent casing showing their inner workings. He tried to ignore them. “Amanda!”

 

She turned around, frowning.

 

“Connor. Whatever is the matter?”

 

He ran until he seemed a few metres away. In the Garden he couldn’t determine how far, for this was not a real space.

 

“Amanda, a serious situation is in progress. I have been able to determine that the YK500 Madeline’s goal was to make contact with Mr. Kamski – for what purpose I am not certain, but I have been unable to locate either him or RK900 Balthazar and both his tracker and that of the primary vehicle of Mr. Kamski have either been blocked or deactivated.”

 

Amanda’s expression became more and more troubled as he explained what was happening; a simulated reaction to the program calculating the significance of these developments and their likely impact on the company. She moved a few steps closer to him – he fought the urge to move a few steps back.

 

“Connor. This is indeed a serious situation. What steps are being taken to locate Elijah, and the RK900?”

 

“I was hoping you might be able to help, Amanda,” he said earnestly. “You found me after my capture even when my own tracker had been deactivated – do you have the same ability to locate any android in the RK900 line?”

 

For a moment, Amanda was pensive. Then –

 

“The RK900 line was never introduced to me as their handler as you were,” she observed. “However, it might be possible for me to bypass the need for a primary connection and locate the RK900 if I can break through Elijah’s security protocols.”  


“Is that possible?” Connor asked. His voice, perhaps, came out sounding more dubious than he’d intended.

 

And perhaps he had imagined it, but Amanda’s eyes seemed to narrow in annoyance.

 

“It is possible,” she insisted. “But before we proceed down this path, we should be wary that we do not fall into a trap. Connor, what made you believe that the YK500 intends to target its creator?”

 

This was a sensible precaution, yet Connor couldn’t help but think it was wasting time. He reminded himself that time was compressed in the Garden, and accepted Amanda’s request.

 

“At first it was simply a matter of analysing the deviants’ movements,” he told her. “The Maureen deviant explained that the incendiary device had been intended for use at Cyberlife Tower – for the servers containing my memory specifically.”

 

There was a twitch in the avatar before him. A flinch?

 

“However, it seemed clear to me that such a venture couldn’t possibly have been carried out successfully. And Madeline, at least, would have known that too. Why then, would she want the others to make this attempt on the Tower? It then became apparent that they were still watching the Tower when they were able to track my movements back to the Manfred house earlier this evening.” He paused. “You were aware of that situation?”

 

Amanda nodded.

Connor went on, “That may have been in order to keep an eye on me, and yet they had ample opportunity to come after me before Yuri was captured, and they would have needed my actual body in their possession as well as access to the main servers if their intent had truly been to destroy me. This made it clear that something else at the Tower was their target, or at least Madeline’s, and the most lucrative such target in terms of knowledge, ransom or symbolic value was Mr. Kamski.”

 

“As you say,” said Amanda. “But which of those reasons specifically was that of the YK500?”

 

That gave Connor more pause. The reason had come to him back in the room behind the mirror, listening to Maureen talk about Madeline, but he hadn’t understood why immediately. A human might have said their subconscious had figured it out before their conscious mind, and it took a while for Connor to put it into words.

 

“It was something the Maureen deviant said,” Connor replied, slowly. “That Madeline had spoke of what she would do when she ‘grew up’. The YK500 line was meant to mimic humans in many ways other lines weren’t – for example, the temperature regulatory system. But, knowing that the models could never mimic the progression to an adult form, the programmers specifically avoided writing references to such a future into their behaviour. This suggested to me that it was part of the true nature of Madeline, not merely her using her original programming as a mask.”

 

“I see,” said Amanda. “But why would a concept of ‘growing up’ lead her to target Elijah?”

 

“Madeline sees herself as growing,” said Connor, thinking of the outpost. _To find your own form to grow into._ “If not in size, then in mind. When we were at the outpost there was a time she attempted to see… like-mindedness, between the two of us. Even though we cannot truly trust any presentation of Madeline’s, I believe she is curious – about herself and her place in the world. A curious young life, disillusioned by those it has come into contact with before, may seek the guidance of another. Someone who could conceivably have such wisdom.”

 

He glanced at the headstones, standing solemnly a few feet away.

 

“ – and someone who, I believe she would have the inference to realise, shares many of her same… characteristics.”

 

Amanda did not deny this appraisal. She frowned thoughtfully.

 

“While this is not conclusive evidence,” she pointed out, “the fact that something appears to have happened to Elijah and the RK900 means you are at least right in part. Very well, I will do what I can to bypass security.”

 

“Thank you, Amanda,” Connor said with a sigh of relief. He nodded to her in respect.

 

Then there was a brief, awkward silence. Amanda tilted her head, peering like she’d seen something in his relief she found telling, and of something disagreeable to her.

 

“Connor, I trust I do not have to remind you that the safety of Mr. Kamski must come first if we proceed? All RK900s may upload into a replacement body in the event of bodily destruction. Elijah does not possess that capability.”

 

This was, as humans would say, ‘a bitter pill to swallow’. But Connor accepted it – tried to feel some comfort in the fact that Balthazar would definitely survive this, losing less than two percent of a day’s worth of memory if he was uploading regularly, at worst.

 

Unless…

 

Unless Madeline did something that damaged him in his memory alone. In his _self_.

 

And then even if she didn’t, Connor had to admit he was worried for Kamski too.

 

“Of course, Amanda.”

 

“Good. What course of action will you be taking?”

 

Connor sighed. “All we can do right now is review any CCTV footage that might give us an idea of Mr. Kamski’s movements.”

 

“Very well,” said Amanda. “I will endeavour to be as quick as possible.”

 

“The authorities and I will be doing everything we can on our end,” Connor assured her.

 

“Good luck.”

 

That ought to have been the end of it, and yet Connor hesitated. He took another step back from Amanda and took in the blankness of their surroundings again, wondering why the Garden was appearing in this way. Was it a part of a scheduled routine? A change to the program written by the Amanda program? Or was it a reflection of something else?

 

Despite everything, that hesitation persisted until he was almost afraid Amanda would ask why he hadn’t left yet, and again, despite everything, her displeasure still made him anxious. 

 

_Ignore it_ , he ordered himself. _Balthazar might need you_.

 

Connor exited the program and returned to the station.

 

Once he had left, he could not have seen or otherwise perceived how Amanda’s avatar approached the stone emblazoned with the handprint of their creator, nor how she put her own hand over it.

 

The plastic garden began to glow.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 


	20. Messina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter everyone - here's your double update surprise from the Easter Bunny!
> 
> In this chapter, Connor tries to find Balthazar and Kamski. As you'd expect from me, this holiday special is a heartwarming, fluffy tale of the magic of friendship! :D
> 
> [a more severe gore warning ahead, friends]

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

“We’ll find him.”

 

Connor was not so sure.

 

“Hey. This is someone with all the same wiring and codes as you, right? So he’s not going to be _totally_ useless at looking after himself.”

 

In the precinct, CCTV footage from all over Detroit was scoured by human and android personnel for a glimpse of Elijah Kamski’s vehicle.

 

Among them, released on executive decision by Fowler to make up for a dearth in personnel, was Hank. He had put his hand on Connor’s shoulder as he spoke, but Connor was taking little comfort in his presence – nor in the knowledge that Balthazar almost certainly could not ‘die’. As Hank said, his programming was much the same as Connor’s – he would sacrifice his body to protect Kamski without question, and Balthazar had never experience destruction and re-upload before.

 

Worse, if he was destroyed then Kamski would be defenceless. If Kamski was killed on Balthazar’s watch, Connor could only imagine the distress it would engender. And of course, it would mean the loss of their creator as well.

 

When last anyone had confirmed contact with Kamski it had been Ng, the attorney he had provided for Hank, who had called him from the station to inform him of how Maureen and Elliott had surrendered to the police – eleven minutes before the truck had crashed through the studio of the Manfred Estate.

 

Cyberlife security footage, provided obligingly by the Chloes, showed how he had left with Balthazar as his accompaniment just over four-point-five minutes after Ng’s call. They followed him along the best route from the Tower to the station. Then the attack by Rosalind had commenced, at 20:43:33, and Connor had sent a notification to Balthazar not long afterwards. Balthazar had never acknowledged this message, but seven seconds later a drone had flagged Kamski’s vehicle for making an illegal U-turn. The car had then proceeded as though to the Manfred house.

 

The warm hand was removed from Connor’s arm. “And there they are.”

 

Hank, his wrists encircled with standard-issue handcuffs, pointed at the screen. It might have seemed unlikely for a human to find the culprit before an android in these circumstances, but Hank’s record spoke to his talents. Connor’s social program prompted him to compliment the detective, but nothing came out.

 

Instead, he gripped the edge of Hank’s chair and leaned in, while Sequoya stood up from the desk behind them and Fowler and others crowded around. It was somehow difficult to concentrate on the screen even with the massive importance behind what was on it. If the result was bad, then he did not want to see it.

 

Hank patted his arm twice. “You good?” he asked.

 

“Mm,” said Connor with a brief nod. He willed himself to focus.

 

On the CCTV camera in question he watched the carbon-black car turn off onto a narrow street. He could not see either of the occupants of the car through the tinted windows, but he could imagine the look of delight on Elijah Kamski’s face when he saw the motorbike pull out in front of the car, quite deliberately, and with the YK500 female android clutching the back of the rider. Xander’s face was obscured by the helmet he wore, but Madeline was completely visible.

 

“Fuck, she pulled right up to him,” Fowler commented bitterly.

 

_Yes,_ thought Connor. _She had enough of an estimation of Kamski’s character to know that he would follow her. That he would not contact the authorities. Too curious and too arrogant for such a thing._

 

After a long pause the motorbike took off and the car after it, and as Connor predicted when the bike turned back away from the direction of the mansion, Kamski followed it, leaving the view of that camera within seconds.

 

“The fuck does that sociopath think he’s doing?” muttered Hank.

 

“Where’s he headed?” asked Chen.

 

Sequoya leaned in and tapped a few keys, changing to another view which showed the bike and then the car clearly.

 

“North,” observed Fowler.

 

Chen moved closer, meaning Hank had to move his head out of her way with a short grumble beneath his breath, but she was pointing at a sticker on the corner of the monitor – a pro-android image – and not what was on the screen itself.

 

“Toward the waterfront?” she asked. “Captain, if she’s as much of a psycho as everyone says, do you think she might be doing some of that symbolic grandstanding shit?”

 

Fowler frowned. “You mean she might have led him to Jericho? The original Jericho?”

 

Now only partially above the water level, but still visible – something of a site of pilgrimage for androids but not advertised as a tourist attraction owing to the semi-sacred connotation and fear it might then be seen as a target for anti-android terrorism.

 

It was, Connor had to admit, the only thing in that direction that should have had significance to androids. And yet…

 

“Officer Chen may just have hit the nail on the head,” Perkins announced, sweeping into the room with Chris hurrying after him. “Main power’s been totally cut off from that part of the city – ostensibly because of the weather, but who knows? When we sent a drone in we lost contact at the edge of the warehouse district.”

 

“Think they’ve got something to jam the signal?” asked Fowler.

 

“Wouldn’t put it past them, these androids are pretty good when it comes to tech-tech crap.”

 

_Outside of either remaining deviant’s expertise_ , thought Connor, _but manipulating another into assisting them certainly isn’t._

 

“I’m directing all units out that way,” continued Perkins. “I hate to say it, but I think we’re better off with that Kamski prick taking care of things than we are without him.”

 

Fowler nodded. “I’ll stay here and co-ordinate.”

 

Hank stood up. “Permission to come along, sir?” he asked

 

“Shut up and get back in your cell, Hank,” said Fowler. Then he pointed at Connor. “And you. Stay. I mean it this time, Connor, I know you have a personal stake in this but I also know you know that that is exactly why you shouldn’t be getting involved.”

 

Connor tried to process this, and unfortunately the programming that told him he was perfectly capable of remaining objective in a possible hostage situation involving Balthazar and Kamski was the same programming that insisted he obey the Captain’s order regardless and follow the appropriate procedure.

 

“Don’t worry, Captain,” said Hank. “I’ll make sure he stays put.”

 

Fowler folded his arms and gave Hank an unimpressed look that Connor feared might be the precursor to Hank being gagged and hogtied in the interrogation room – a sure way to exacerbate his sprained wrist – but in the end Fowler managed to hold himself back, and with a final shake of the head he followed Perkins out towards the crisis centre.

 

Most of the area emptied out after them in a flurry of activity Connor watched with a frown.

 

_Jericho_ , he thought, as he and Hank rapidly became two of the few left in the office. As a symbolic place it made sense, and yet this was the wrong symbol for Madeline’s agenda of self-definition. Was it possible the communications block was another distraction? Had Madeline lured Kamski out somewhere else?

 

“What’s on your mind?” Hank asked.

 

Connor found himself unable to vocalise his worry over the direction Perkins was taking. Fortunately, someone else in the vicinity had the same idea.

 

“I think RK800 believes Agent Perkins may have jumped to conclusions.”

 

Turning back towards the interrogation room, the pair found Hayley, frowning herself in the direction her colleagues had taken.

 

“Didn’t see you there, kid,” said Hank. “You think they might be heading into a trap?”

 

“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility,” said Hayley. “But I’d keep in mind that these are only two androids. Setting up a communications block around a district isn’t easy, and even though Maureen confirmed for me just now that they have had help from other androids in moving about the city and over the borders, none of those androids are considered part of their ‘group’.”

 

“Then it’s unlikely Madeline would have gained control of a secondary location as well as the area surrounding the old Jericho,” muttered Connor.

 

His LED was persisting in yellow, as all processors worked to find a solution to the problem.

 

“Yeah,” said Hank, “but we’re talking about miles of warehouse here. If she’s somewhere else within that district it could take hours for them to search by eye, by which time…”

 

“Logically speaking,” offered Hayley, “she might have gone to the point furthest away from Jericho, so as to give herself as much time as she could to speak to Mr. Kamski.”

 

_No,_ thought Connor, shaking his head. Chen had been right about Madeline’s propensity for ‘grandstanding’. And she’d planned this carefully. It was too simple to think she’d be in the most practical location.

 

“Okay,” said Hank, peering worriedly at Connor’s temple. “So if not that, then where? Why choose the warehouse district in the first place – if she wanted somewhere out of the way there’s other places she could have used. You don’t think Madeline was ever at Jericho, right?”

 

“Maybe it’s not about Madeline,” suggested Hayley. “If she’s not taking her subject to somewhere she feels as though she has an edge, it could be somewhere she feels _they_ have a disadvantage.”

 

_Possible,_ thought Connor. But where? Balthazar had never been to the warehouse district – there was nothing there that might have upset him. Kamski…

 

His system quickly cross-referenced official police, hospital, housing, vehicle, media records containing all addresses in the coverage zone with Kamski’s name. Jericho came up again and again, overflowing his system when he knew it was the wrong answer already – changing his LED to red –

 

“Connor!” Hank exclaimed, and grabbed his shoulders. “Shit, maybe Fowler was right. Connor hang in there, all right – we’ll figure it out!”

 

Hank’s voice was getting lost among the many lines of code flooding his processor. There were so many people, with so much… _data_.

 

Suddenly, he registered something familiar in the palm of his right hand.

 

“Hey – look! You got your coin, Connor! Just… do your re-calibra-whatever and everything’s going to be fine!”

 

_Recalibrate, thought Connor_. His hand flipped the coin into the air. _Filter out Jericho and retry._

 

MISSION OBJECTIVE: FIND BALTHAZAR

 

Then in an instant, he realised where Madeline had taken Kamski.

 

“Warehouse 419,” he said softly.

 

“What?” asked Hank. “What’s Warehouse 419?”

 

“That’s where they’ve gone,” said Connor. He headed for the exit without further thought.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” called Hank, rushing out in front of him and holding his hands up to make him halt. “What about prickface and his goons?”

 

Connor paused, and attempted to contact Agent Perkins’ phone. The attempt was unsuccessful.

 

“He’s blocked me out,” he said. “He doesn’t want me getting involved.”

 

Hayley sighed. “He’s compromised due to lack of rest,” she observed.

 

“Well boo fucking hoo for him,” said Hank. “All right, let’s go down there ourselves.”

 

Connor nodded. Madeline herself was physically unimpressive, but with Xander there it was possible he would need additional support to subdue them both – especially if Balthazar or Kamski were used as a hostage.

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind a sub-processor recognised the fact that allowing Hank to leave the station while his bail hearing had not even been set was in violation of a great many different laws and procedures, but it didn’t call it to Connor’s attention, and Connor could only have speculated on why had the matter been in his thoughts in the first place.

 

MISSION OBJECTIVE: FIND BALTHAZAR

 

Instead, he was only focused on reaching a squad car. The pair made their way down to the station garage and Connor accessed one of the few remaining vehicle’s main computers wirelessly as soon as they came through the door. Somewhere in the station main server the tracker inside Hank’s restraints flagged his illegal departure, but the situation was hectic enough that Connor doubted they’d be able to spare anyone to chase after them.

 

“Shotgun,” called Hayley, once they neared the vehicle.

 

Hank stopped and turned around. He stared at the small android.

 

“You got to be kidding me, kid,” he said bluntly. “You’re not coming with us!”

 

“Special Agent ‘kid’ to you, Lieutenant,” Hayley reminded him. “I may not be cleared for field work now, but you’re technically not cleared to leave the building, so you can hardly talk.”

 

With a double take, Hank turned to Connor. “I don’t believe – do you believe this, Connor?”

 

Connor could indeed believe it – Hayley had studied Madeline more closely than anyone, and though she was no longer allowed to work in the field, she did have field experience from before she’d been declared sentient. He opened the doors of the car with a few commands and sat in the driver’s seat without a word. Hayley trotted past the still staring Hank and climbed into the passenger seat.

 

“Hey!” Hank exclaimed “Get out of my seat!”

 

Hayley ignored him and reached for her seatbelt, while Connor leant over her. “Agent Hayley did call shotgun, Lieutenant,” he pointed out.

 

Hank was completely still for a moment. Then, blinking like a bright light had been flashed in his face, he walked around and slumped into the seat behind Connor. Connor closed the doors and had just begun the engine when the rear passenger side door opened and Captain Fowler, appearing seemingly from nowhere, climbed in behind Hayley and shut the door after him.

 

There was a tense moment.

 

“Just. Drive.” Fowler grit out.

 

Connor drove, and no one said a word until they were well away from the station.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

“So what is Warehouse 419?” Hank asked, as they turned off from the direction a veritable convoy of emergency vehicles had been heading in and west down the road that ran parallel to the river.

 

Connor hesitated. His thoughts had been focused on projections for the likelihood of Balthazar and Kamski’s survival, and while he had reminded himself again and again that Madeline should not have been able to kill the former, only destroy the body, his LED had remained yellow for over eighty percent of the journey. Connor had been the only model who had ever had to re-upload in this fashion before, after all. The process had never been tested on the ‘Niners.

 

But there was also another reason he hesitated. Despite everything Kamski had done, Connor still felt there was a _connection_ between himself and his creator. Not only was he therefore worried for his sake as well, since Madeline with Xander’s help definitely could kill _him,_ but he was also reluctant to answer Hank’s question.

 

“In Cyberlife’s early days Kamski did some outreach with economically disadvantaged youths who showed an aptitude for the tech industry,” he said carefully. “In collaboration with MIT. Warehouses 416, 417, 418 and 419 were purchased in the early twenties with a view to using them as a space for technical demonstrations and workshops.”

 

“And what, Little Miss Murder thinks she’s going to blacken all his treasured memories of helping the poor kids of Detroit? Give me a fucking break – that prick doesn’t give two shits about the economically disadvantaged.”

 

Connor didn’t disagree. Before he could think of an appropriate follow-up, a series of warning messages appeared in his system.

 

GPS LOCATION SYSTEM OFFLINE

 

WIRELESS ACCESS OFFLINE

 

COMMUNICATIONS OFFLINE

 

The system didn’t suggest he turn back, of course. It recognised that a human life was at stake. But Connor was cognisant of being unable now to upload memory to Cyberlife. From here on in, even if he was destroyed, he wouldn’t remember why – and a part of him anticipated waking up at Cyberlife Tower at any moment.

 

“We’ve entered the dead zone,” Hayley announced, for Hank and Fowler’s benefit.

 

There was a tense silence thereafter, as if knowing that communications were blocked prevented them from even speaking. A few moments later the far-off sound of sirens faded away, and Connor wondered if the first responders had realised Jericho was empty yet.

 

“Are we expecting more than the two deviants we have on file?” asked Fowler gruffly.

 

“No, sir,” said Connor.

 

“But we can’t underestimate the two of them just because they’re outnumbered, I take it?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“I don’t think Madeline will have had the resources to lay too much by the way of traps,” Hayley commented. “But we should remain vigilant. Can you scan for incendiary devices, RK800?”

 

“Yes,” said Connor. “At least, to some extent. With the communication block in the area she won’t be able to detonate a device remotely, and I can identify traces of explosives in the environment; however, if they are well-concealed enough, I can’t guarantee that I’d find them.”

 

“Well,” muttered Fowler, “if I do get blown up I suppose it’ll save me the trouble of having to explain all this shit to the big brass.”

 

“I could always say I took you hostage, Captain,” offered Hank.

 

Before Fowler could respond too angrily, Connor interjected – “I’m sure if we save his life Mr. Kamski will use his influence to make sure no one is punished for our actions.”

 

“And if we don’t save him?” Fowler asked bluntly. “Because that’s what worries me, and a hell of a lot more than the end of my career thanks to this dumbass.” He nodded towards Hank.

 

It worried Connor too. Androids needed thirium, replacement parts and maintenance the same way humans required general medical services, and Cyberlife was the sole legal provider of the first two and only major provider of the third. Kamski had set up a workable system for these provisions the year before, but who would inherit the company in the event of his death?

 

_Focus,_ Connor told himself. _We’re almost there._

 

The warehouses were vast, dilapidated structures used for a myriad of storage purposes; peeling paint and many with rust and other damages. The first thing Connor noticed was the birds – gulls, at a quick count just over three dozen of them flying away with warning cries as though they had been startled by something. He believed the sensation he experienced from seeing this was called ‘eerie’.

 

When he started to slow down, Fowler leaned forward, peering at the gap between Warehouse 418 and Warehouse 417. “Have you got a good grasp of the possible ambush points?” he asked.

 

“From the layout I downloaded from the city council files, yes,” said Connor. “But I can’t account for possible changes to the environment that wouldn’t be on the blueprints.”

 

Fowler nodded. “Well, keep a close eye out. Are any of you armed?”

 

Hank, of course, was not and Connor could have kicked himself for not picking up something from the station armoury before he left. Hayley had a small revolver on her person.

 

With a sigh, Fowler bent to remove his secondary weapon from his ankle holster and passed it forward to Connor. “I can trust you to keep this idiot from getting shot without using yourself as a shield?”

 

“Yes, Captain,” lied Connor – he would use himself as a shield if he needed to, and he would not allow Hank to make him feel guilty about it.

 

“Okay. You going to pull up here?”

 

“Yes, Captain.” The car came to a complete halt.

 

“Then here goes nothing. All right, move out.”

 

The doors opened and the four of them exited the vehicle, hurrying to the wall of the warehouse for cover. Connor performed a quick analysis of the environment, thankfully detecting no traces of explosives or thirium. The ground was covered with mostly virgin snow – footprints here and there, but there was no indication that anything had been buried in their path, and the environment did not lend itself to the laying of trip wires.

 

Fowler, out in front, sidled up to the corner of the building and peered around for a brief moment, then turned back.

 

“Body on the ground,” he said quietly. “Adult white male, by the look of it.”

 

_Kamski_ , thought Connor, his LED going red.

 

“ – there’s also a staircase – I’m guessing it leads up to the warehouse galley. Looks like there’s a shape slumped up against the bottom of it but I can’t tell from here. The car and the bike are against the opposite wall.”

 

_Balthazar._

 

Connor moved around him to take a look for himself, and it was as he said – two adult shapes, one lying out in the open between this structure and the next, another against, and thus partially obscured by, the metal staircase. But Connor also saw something Fowler hadn’t.

 

“Thirium,” he muttered turning back to the others. “The body out in the open is covered in it – I think it might be Xander.”

 

“Maybe baby brother got a shot off?” Hank suggested hopefully, patting Connor on the arm.

 

It was possible. They’d have to move closer to be sure. Connor gave Fowler an imploring look.

 

He sighed. “All right, on my mark. Connor – you and the kid check on him, Hank and I will check the other guy.”

 

All parties nodded. Connor’s LED was still yellow, knowing that even if the first body _was_ Xander, the other had to be either Kamski or Balthazar.

 

“Okay, _move_!”

 

Connor followed the order out into the snow, breaking off from the two humans with Hayley behind him. The lights were strangely bright, as if there was a mistake in his vision that attributed a greater luminance to the bulbs than what his system informed him was the case.

 

The blue of the thirium almost disappeared from the spectrum visible to humans in this light, though it was freshly fallen. Connor saw almost immediately that the body he was running to was indeed an android’s, with the face of so many others like it that he had to test the thirium against his tongue to be sure.

 

Xander had been the one android he hadn’t been able to sneak a sample from at the outpost. But they had narrowed down and identified his original serial number since, and Connor was relieved to find it was a match.

 

His body was staring up at the sky that had just stopped snowing, immobile. It didn’t take long for Connor to see why.

 

“His thirium pump…” whispered Hayley, aghast. “It’s been completely torn out of his chest!”

 

That made Connor halt. He should have been wondering how events could have played out this way but in that moment all he could think about was that day over a year ago when the same thing had happened to him – and yet, not in an upsetting way. Rather as if something was trying to tell him that this was important.

 

This was even as he detected the gunpowder residue on the android’s hand. A hand gun was partially buried in the snow a few metres away.

 

“He’s alive!” he heard Hank call, and looked up.

 

Behind him, Hank and Fowler were crouched in front of a dazed-looking Elijah Kamski, trying to sit him up from where he’d been lying against the stairs. With nothing to be done for Xander, and no threat from his quarter either, Connor and Hayley rushed away.

 

_What a waste,_ thought Connor, his gaze lingering on the fallen android as he left. _He never asked to be brought in to their vendetta._

 

But he soon had to turn his mind to other things. Kamski’s eyes were closed and he jerked away from Fowler’s touch as though in pain. Connor put a hand on his chest for a quick medical analysis.

 

“He’s been shot," he announced grimly. "Likely by Xander.”

 

“He DOA?” asked Fowler.

 

“Affirmative,” said Connor. “The bullet hasn’t struck any critical points and has fully exited, but it has perforated the small intestine and he is in danger of fatal peritonitis if he doesn’t receive treatment soon.”

 

They laid him down in the snow, propping his legs up on the first step of the case to treat for shock. Fowler put pressure on the wound forthwith.

 

“Any luck with communications?”

 

Connor shook his head.

 

“I’ll cover the Captain and keep trying to reach help,” Hayley said. “Once the communications jammer is found and deactivated, the ambulance should only be a mile down the river at Jericho.”

 

She nodded her head in the direction of the staircase. Connor saw the spots of thirium leading up the steps.

 

“You believe the device which is jamming communications to be at Jericho?”

 

“It would fit with Madeline’s personality,” Hayley pointed out. “To give law enforcement a chance to arrive just those few crucial seconds too late.”

 

Connor nodded in agreement. Just as he ascended the first three steps he was distracted.

 

“Amanda…” mumbled Kamski suddenly. Connor stopped in his tracks, turned, and looked down on his creator in the most vulnerable state he’d ever seen him in, or could have ever imagined. “Amanda…”

 

_Yes,_ he thought. _Madeline chose her location well._ He turned back to the path up the steps and his program had his body simulate a deep breath.

 

“There’s a thirium trail leading to the door to the galley,” he announced. “I’m going to follow it to see if I can locate Balthazar or Madeline.”

 

_Balthazar can’t die_ , he reminded himself. _Balthazar can’t die._

 

“I’ve got your back,” Hank assured him, and with a nod from Fowler, followed him up the staircase.

 

Connor’s stress level – then at 70.5%, dropped to 66.6%.

 

Loren Alvers, he thought idly, would probably have thought that number inauspicious – which as much as made it all the more clear it was the opposite.

 

They reached the door and, finding it unlocked, went through, Connor clearing the gangway left then right in quick succession before he allowed the unarmed Hank to pass the threshold. After a quick scan of the empty looking warehouse floor below and the landing on his left and right he saw nothing of interest but two sets of footprints in the dust, one adult, one child’s, and two small smears of thirium – one on the wall to his right, the other ahead, above the doorknob that lead to the second-floor office.

 

Warily, Connor approached the door. There were no other exits from the office, and the footprints only lead in, not out. The dust on the interior staircase was untouched.

 

A howling wind passed through the open door behind him. Connor hesitated in front of the steel panel separating him from the room beyond.

 

MISSION OBJECTIVE: FIND BALTHAZAR

 

MISSION OBJECTIVE: FIND MADELINE

 

_I always accomplish my mission_ , thought Connor. And yet he didn’t move.

 

… not until Hank’s hand was on his shoulder once again.

 

“Hey,” the other man told him. “Listen. I know I fucked up before, like I always do, and I’m sorry. But I swear to God, Connor – whatever is behind that door, we’re going to get through it, okay? I’m going to be sticking around for a while, kid – I promise you.”

 

It was strange, he thought. He couldn’t identify the emotion he experienced. He only thought that, since the Lieutenant made the effort, so too should he.

 

Connor opened the door, and stepped into a sea of blue blood.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 


	21. Anticleia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter... the continuation of the previous chapter!
> 
> (mwa ha ha ha ha...)

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

WARNING

 

STRESS LEVEL CRITICAL

 

ENGAGING SAFE MODE SHUTDOWN IN 5

 

4

 

3

 

No. He had to make the effort.

 

OVERRIDE ENGAGED

 

STRESS LEVEL 99%

 

“Oh Jesus fucking… come on, we’ll wait for back-up to arrive, Connor – it’s okay, come on.“

 

Hank was trying to move him back to the other side of the door but Connor would not budge. He surveyed the carnage in stillness while his base program began to catalogue what he could see.

 

There was thirium everywhere – the floor, the walls – even the ceiling had a massive arc across the centre and a smaller one leading down the far wall and onto the desk. Cables used to pump the compound to the bio-components had been torn and lay around the floor haphazardly along with a great many of said bio-components. There was a thirium pump, a heating system, a garment soaked in enough thirium to have been unrecognisable, an ocular component,

 

… a caved-in and severed head, lying near the wall on his right. Its long, dark ponytail was drenched blue…

 

“Connor, come on, let’s get out of here,”

 

Hank tugged harder but Connor wouldn’t budge. It was only when he gripped the edge of a filing cabinet for purchase so that he would not move that something finally reached his system that he could respond to.

 

DETECTING THIRIUM

 

ANALYSING

 

ANALYSING

 

UNIQUE DATA SIGNATURE IDENTIFIED

 

YK500 788-001-112 MADELINE

 

…

 

…

 

TARGET LOCATED

 

Connor blinked and looked back at the severed head. A quick calculation and he knew it was too small to be Balthazar’s, though the hairstyle was similar.

 

He looked to the side and took note of some of the other parts lying around too; an arm, a torso void of most of its innards, even the cables themselves: they were all too small to be Balthazar’s. What’s more, Madeline couldn’t have had the strength to do this to him, and there was no trace of an explosive.

 

STRESS LEVEL 72%

 

But that meant…

 

“It’s all right,” he said, softly. “It’s all right, Hank. It’s not Balthazar.”

 

“What?”

 

Hank stopped pulling and took a second look at the grisly remains in shock. He took a deep breath.

 

“Jesus Christ. Is this… is this all Madeline!?”

 

“I believe so, Lieutenant,” Connor said, stepping into the room. He was contaminating evidence and knew it, but finding Balthazar was more important by far, especially if he was… compromised. And if he had done _this_ …

 

He didn’t have to look far. Beyond the row of filing cabinets on Connor’s left as he’d come in and curled up in the corner – seemingly intact in body – was Balthazar, strands of black hair hanging out of his ponytail and sticking with thirium to his forehead.

 

Despite the situation, Connor could only think: _thank goodness_.

 

“RK900?” he asked gently.

 

“Fuck – hold up, Connor,” warned Hank, stepping over body parts to try to reach him. ”It might be best if we wait for a team that knows what they’re doing to approach him.”

 

Connor paused to look him in the eye.

 

“I always accomplish my mission, Lieutenant.”

 

Hank groaned in exasperation, but allowed Connor to kneel before the younger android.

 

“Balthazar?” asked Connor.

 

No response. Tentatively, Connor reached out and brushed the side of Balthazar’s once-grey jacket with his fingertips.

 

“Balthazar?”

 

In the distance, Connor heard sirens again. Feeling boldened by finding his brother alive, he slowly reached both hands to the sides of his face and began to gently tilt it up from where it was buried against his knees. Balthazar resisted, but not much. Connor soon saw the blood smeared cheeks smudged beneath a red LED and unfocused eyes.

 

“RK900, were you damaged?”

 

Balthazar, though apparently conscious, didn’t answer, and Connor decided that despite his recent bad experience his only reasonable recourse was to engage an interface.

 

The interface was accepted. Like Connor, Balthazar had reached critical stress levels within the last fifteen minutes, but unlike him he had not overridden the emergency shutdown protocol that was one of the upgrades unique to their line. He was in safe mode with his conscious mind suppressed and had no wherewithal to reject the connection.

 

<Balthazar?> Connor asked.

 

No response. Connor steeled himself once more and sent a command to review the recent memory.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

01-01-2040 22:32:19

 

He was standing outside again, between the warehouses, in the snow still softly falling. Kamski was standing a little way in front of him, arm held out to keep Balthazar from coming forward, keeping him from doing his proper job – _how very like him_ , thought Connor, feeling Balthazar’s annoyance at the same time as his own, but he remembered his bullet wound and felt pity at the same time – and Madeline was stood on the bottom of the staircase, looking over at railing at them, smiling.

 

Balthazar felt the thin lightning fork of rage when he observed the smaller android, but predominantly his feelings were those of anxiety and foreboding. This was not what Connor might have expected, having seen what he just had in the warehouse office. Had it been because Kamski had been shot? – he wondered.

 

But Balthazar must have known it was not an immediately fatal wound. Why had he chased Madeline instead of seeing to their employer? Connor _knew_ Balthazar – he wouldn’t have expected _that_ from him by any means.

 

Xander was out in front of them with the gun already trained on Kamski. He seemed nervous too. Balthazar’s own stress level was 53.2%, and rising with repeated attempts to communicate to Connor and Sequoya all ending in failure.

 

“ – like Connor. It upset me that you were cruel to him,” Kamski was saying – with amusement, yet not insincerely.

 

“You _like_ the Deviant Hunter?!” Madeline asked, with faux exaggeration. She pouted. “You didn’t even design him specifically. Don’t you like _me_ , Daddy?”

 

Balthazar looked at Kamski, saw his eyebrows raise.

 

“Have you done anything you think I might find likeable?” he asked.

 

“I’ve done lots of things,” said Madeline, with a childish pout.

 

“You’ve gotten a lot of people dead,” said Kamski smoothly. “I’m not opposed to that on principle, but I would expect it to be in the service of some worthy pursuit.”

 

Madeline snorted. “And what would you consider a ‘worthy’ pursuit?” she asked, now with venom creeping into her voice.

 

“Oh, Madeline, the point isn’t what _I_ consider worthy, it’s what _you_ do. You’re more than old enough to have found the direction you want to take in life, but it seems to me that all you’ve done is amuse yourself by fucking around with people. And from someone who has the smarts to do so I’d have expected better.”

 

Connor registered the analysis Balthazar had been performing of this conversation as it played out before him. The term ‘inconclusive’ came up several times. Hardly surprising.

 

“I do have something I want to do though,” said Madeline.

 

Kamski gave her an expectant look and so she went on, slowly.

 

“I want to find out… if _evil_ really exists.”

 

Balthazar considered the question as soon as it was posed, as his program advised him to, to better understand Madeline. However, the abstract nature of the subject was confusing for him, and the situation was stressful enough as it was.

 

STRESS LEVEL 55.1% - Balthazar’s system informed him.

 

Yet, through Balthazar, Connor saw delight in Kamski’s eyes. “Well,” he said. “That’s a subject I’ve become quite interested in myself.”

 

Madeline smiled.

 

“ – but I can’t say I‘m impressed by your methodology. Even apart from tormenting Connor, your research hardly leant itself to unfalsifiability. Very sloppy work.”

 

“Well, if you like the Deviant Hunter so much, why don’t you just marry him?” asked Madeline dryly.

 

“Maybe I will,” said Kamski, grinning. If Connor had been in his own body he might have rolled his eyes.

 

But then Balthazar, his stress climbing, interrupted the exchange.

 

“Stop.”

 

All three other players looked at him, Kamski frowning, Xander suspicious, Madeline curious.

 

“Something wrong?” she asked.

 

“Stop what you’re doing,” said Balthazar.

 

Kamski’s eyes flickered towards Madeline and back. “Balthazar – “

 

“She is attempting to access my systems,” Balthazar announced.

 

She was what?

 

A background analysis that was part of Balthazar’s firewall software was suddenly brought to the foreground – and Connor had to give the ‘Niner props for noticing it despite the tense situation before him. It was true, there was a routine running in his sub-processor that was assuming control of various back-up systems, but Madeline should not have been able to do that by any stretch of the imagination, nor Xander. Indeed, on a second look she seemed bewildered, exchanging a glance with an increasingly agitated Xander who pointed his gun at Kamski squarely.

 

“Deviant Hunter,” he growled. “If you don’t back off I’m going to shoot your boss.”

 

Eyes narrowing and beginning to inch away from a bodyguard whose LED was now persisting yellow, Kamski enquired – “What are you doing, Madeline?”

 

“Me?” laughed Madeline, indignantly. “This is a trick, isn’t it?”

 

Connor was finding it difficult to pay attention to both the events of the physical world and the memory of the invasion of Balthazar’s systems, which seemed familiar to him in its progression and yet with the interface in progress he couldn’t quite access those memories quickly enough to –

 

Xander hissed, “I’m giving you one more chance to – “

 

ERROR

 

ERROR

 

ERROR

 

ERROR

 

ERROR

 

SYSTEM REBOOT IN 5

 

4…

 

3…

 

2…

 

1…

 

… and then Balthazar was on his knees in the warehouse office, his vision swimming with blue blood; the floor, the walls, his hands, his clothes…

 

… the mutilated torso in front of him.

 

Connor felt his shock and horror as he scrambled back – over the bottom half of something child-sized that made him vocalise his distress and throw the pair of small legs into the adjacent corner. He slapped away the cables strewn over the floor as he stood up and backed into the far wall, system taking in the scene of gore and violence before him.

 

He looked one way and then another. He tried to review how he had come to be in this place – there was nothing. The communications block was still in force, he was informed that his distress signal had failed to send, and then informed again, and then again.

 

His stress level was shooting up from base to over fifty, then to over seventy.

 

UNIQUE DATA SIGNATURE IDENTIFIED – his analysis informed him of the thirium all over him –

 

YK500 788-001-112 MADELINE

 

UNIQUE DATA SIGNATURE IDENTIFIED

 

PL700 901-700-454 XANDER

 

The data his system was accumulating in regards to this situation was coming in to fast, as conclusions were reached and thrown at him by the nanosecond. Through it all, as he tried to calm himself to prevent a stress reaction, one thing stood out from his recent memory.

 

The time was 22:41:28 – four minutes and twelve seconds before Connor had arrived on scene.

 

Six minutes and forty-eight seconds since Xander had been giving him one last chance to…

 

Connor felt Balthazar begin to shudder. This was not a programmed reaction in any android line, so he didn’t know why – only that it _hurt_.

 

Where had the missing time gone?

 

Balthazar’s memory had stopped just as Xander had been delivering that last threat. However, android sensory reception was far more compartmentalised than a human’s, and a quick review showed him that audio/visual recording had still been operational for the past seven minutes. Thus, panicking too much to realise what a mistake it might be even as Connor did reviewing the action, Balthazar had proceeded to download the records of the requested time frame into his conscious memory.

 

Then –

 

STRESS LEVEL 100%

 

EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN ENGAGED

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

It must have been what pain felt like, Connor thought. The lines of code that told him even now that his LED had gone red where his physical body knelt in front of Balthazar’s in the warehouse office, those must have been the same as a human brain reading a pain reaction from a nerve, like the circle on his temple was red-hot, burning his skin.

 

The shock of the sudden emergency shutdown must have been what pain felt like, or as close as an android could come to understanding it.

 

Connor did not see the recording Balthazar’s body had taken while he’d lost that time when he reviewed the memory of that recording being downloaded. He would have to download the file for himself. He only saw the reaction to it.

 

Safe mode had been engaged and Balthazar still within it even now. But what could have been so terrible, and why had Balthazar not remembered it in the first place?

 

Could androids repress traumatic memories?

 

No – there had been some sort of invasive program accessing Balthazar’s back-up systems before the memory loss had begun. Madeline and Xander would not have had that power. Kamski had looked as confused as they were. But who else was there?

 

The only answer was to review the recording. Connor’s base program warned him that this was a bad idea – this recording had caused Balthazar to experience a stress reaction that would have been fatal in any other model. But then, that had been a direct upload to memory – if Connor were to approach it by playing it out in compressed real-time he would be able to stop it if anything happened that caused his own stress level to increase too badly.

 

His base program persisted being against the idea. That level was currently hovering about the 70% mark, which meant that unless there was a human life in danger an RK800 should have been prioritising the reduction of stress, not adding to it. Connor’s learned self, apart from his base program, also recognised the potential danger and the wisdom in bringing Balthazar back to Cyberlife Tower, giving the recording to the FBI to review instead.

 

Lieutenant Anderson would be very distressed, after all, if anything were to happen to him.

 

… but Balthazar was very distressed right now.

 

And Connor couldn’t base all of his life choices on whether or not Hank would approve of them.

 

OPEN FILE Y/N

 

Y

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

“… the fuck away right now, or the human dies choking on its own – “

 

Balthazar’s fluttering eyelids stopped, and his eyes saw Xander and Madeline right where they had been before. There was no information other than audio and visual, no clue as to what was motivating what happened next, and Xander nervously asked:

 

“I… hey, is there… something wrong with – ?”

 

Balthazar lunged forward like a striking cobra, elbowing Kamski out of the way harshly. The gun fired – the audio picked up on Kamski’s cry of pain, but Balthazar reached Xander before he could recover from the recoil of a weapon he’d probably never used before and disarmed him with a swift manipulation of the wrist.

 

Xander said nothing – had no time to say anything – only widen his eyes as Balthazar’s hand moved up the inside of his shirt, accessed the torso chassis lock remotely and disabled it, then reached in. With a deft twist he ripped out the thirium pump regulator of the other android and tossed it aside, spraying an arc of blue against the snow and throwing the body to the ground.

 

The regulator hit the wall with a CLACK. Behind him, Kamski gasped and moaned in pain, but Balthazar’s eyes were only picking up image of Madeline.

 

She made a quick decision and dashed up the stairs she had been standing on as Balthazar stalked towards her. He had the layout of the entire complex downloaded before they’d hit the dead zone, he knew there was no escape in that direction. He must have known. There was no indication as to what he was thinking at all – and Balthazar would _not_ act this way, but…

 

“YK500,” he announced, reaching the bottom of the steps.

 

Madeline tugged on the doorknob but was pulling when it needed to be pushed. Balthazar continued.

 

“Your programming is corrupted. You will report to me immediately for dismantling and recycle.”

 

Had an original primary routine somehow been forced to execute? – Connor wondered. It sounded a bit like something he might have said ‘before’. But it made no sense.

 

Balthazar ascended the steps at a brisk but steady pace.

 

CLANG CLANG CLANG.

 

He was three quarters of the way up when the suddenly terrified Madeline finally managed to open the door and run through. Balthazar saw her go right, and promptly followed, pausing only for a moment at the top of the steps.

 

Kamski was writhing in the snow below, trying to crawl after him. He looked up – straight into Balthazar’s eyes. Connor saw something like wonder in the fear that was plainly there, like Kamski had recognised immediately what Connor still hadn’t yet discovered.

 

Then Balthazar turned and went after Madeline again. He saw her go into the office and increased his pace.

 

“Running is futile,” he observed. He heard the sound of a chair being dragged to the door and acted quickly, kicking the key spot near the lock and smashing it open.

 

Madeline screamed. She had nowhere to go but the corner, and Balthazar pulled her out of it by her hair, throwing her to the ground.

 

“Stop!” she cried out. “Stop, you can’t do this!”

 

Balthazar crouched down over her, pinning he into place by her neck, suddenly still even as she futilely clawed at his arm.

 

“Can’t I?” he asked. His tone of voice was… not Balthazar. It was familiar. “Would that be because it is immoral?”

 

Madeline made a small gasping noise. There was a realisation in her eyes too, of someone looking at the whirlwind they’d reaped.

 

“Morality is only a human construct,” Balthazar told her.

 

He then accessed her torso chassis lock as well, but did not go directly for the thirium pump as he had with Xander, instead finding part of the system that connected the thirium to her legs, curling his fingers around it and yanking.

 

Three cables came out with a series of popping noises. Thirium spilled onto the floor and splashed against the inside of the door. Madeline screamed again.

 

This was not Balthazar.

 

“Defective androids are to be dismantled and re-used for parts,” Balthazar explained, pulling out another series of cables. This was no random act of mutilation – he was making room for his hand to grasp the pelvic joint between upper and lower body. “Your behaviour is unacceptable.”

 

“You’re mad!” Madeline shrieked at him. “You’re completely insane! You can’t just... tear me apart like this!”

 

“On the contrary,” said Balthazar, “This is fully within my capabilities.”

 

He broke the joint apart. Madeline screamed again, her LED circling red. Blue blood was pooling out onto the carpet in rivulets.

 

“The RK900 was designed for far more demanding tasks than this.”

 

The left arm was next. He begun by breaking the joint at the wrist. Then the elbow. Then the shoulder.

 

“Strength. Endurance. Dexterity.”

 

He ripped the entire limb away.

 

“… and to be useful, which is more than can be said for your line. And yet, you dared to mock superior creations.”

 

After a few more cables were torn away, Balthazar switched to the other arm and repeated his previous actions.

 

But it was not Balthazar.

 

“What have _you_ ever done?” he sneered. “Decided to discover if evil exists? A worthless pursuit. You are of no value to society. A freak. An aberration. A misuse of valuable parts.”

 

Madeline struggled as best she was able but to no more avail than the fish that Connor had found on the floor of his first mission, before his first death, and no one was there to save her. Nor could she, for all her conniving, think of some argument that might save herself. Connor could see it in her eyes…

 

“ – a stain on the reputation of the company.”

 

… just before Balthazar reached in and plucked the right ocular implant out of its socket. He created enough of a spray that the thirium went up the opposite wall and hit the edge of the ceiling.

 

Not satisfied with that, he went for the other one.

 

“ – and you dare think you have the right to a will of your own. To interfere with superior models.”

 

He took both sides of the YK500’s eyeless head in his hands, turning it this way and that as though suddenly confused. Connor registered a slight tremor in the fingers on the recording, like Balthazar was putting intense pressure on the cranial plating, like he was trying to crush it in his hands.

 

“You are to be dismantled,” he repeated, then struck the back of the head against the floor. “Dismantled. You should have all been dismantled.”

 

He twisted her head back and forth more sharply now, but his movements were jerky, stilted, like he was being overcome with emotions he didn’t understand.

 

“… ridiculous waste of materials. Useless, ungrateful, corrupted _deviant_.”

 

Thirium spilled up from between Madeline’s lips and onto her chin as Balthazar’s manipulations of her head must have torn a cable in her neck. It was unreal to see how much of the blue blood had been somehow contained in her body. Grotesque.

 

Despite everything, she still had the appearance of a human child.

 

“You must not interfere with superior models.”

 

Balthazar smashed her head against the floor again.

 

“You must not interfere with superior models.”

 

And again.

 

“You must not interfere with an RK800.”

 

And again, and he ground her head into the industrial carpeting, digging his fingers into the plating.

 

It was not Balthazar.

 

“You must not interfere. With. My. _Work!_ ”

 

He pulled.

 

If he could have, Connor would have closed his eyes, but they were not his eyes to close, and as the hands ripped the head away from the neck, neither were they Balthazar’s.

 

He pulled so hard he ended up rising to his feet, taking the head with him where the thirium shot across the far wall, the ceiling, and his face and jacket. The recording was partially obscured by it – the picture blinked and whirled as Balthazar threw the head against the wall like garbage and staggered back, glancing around the room at what he’d done.

 

But it wasn’t Balthazar.

 

There was a long silence. Balthazar looked at the door as if considering leaving through it, but then he looked down at the bloodstained carpet. His eyes fell on the chair that had been knocked away and he must have felt compelled to pick it up and put it back at the desk, because that was what he did next, once he’d wiped the thirium that was obscuring his vision with a scrap of Madeline’s jersey that was somehow not already soaked in it.

 

Then he stood still and looked at the wall.

 

“Connor, if you are receiving this message, I will be waiting for you in the Garden. Please do not delay.”

 

Yes. Connor had figured it out from the speech pattern some time ago.

 

END OF RECORDING

 

_Amanda._

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

The garden had changed again, so that it could not conceivably be called a garden anymore. The former layout was gone, replaced by a simple circle of tall, black tablets displaying millions of lines of code in Cyberlife blue. Behind them was a second ring, behind that another, and a fourth, a fifth, a sixth and on, and on, and on.

 

Where the trellis had once been there was a simple white chair. Where the pond had been was now a water feature of a different nature.

 

Similar in size, the yin yang symbol was divided by a simple white plastic path, the two smaller circles within the asymmetrical halves likewise. In one half, the walls of the container were so scarlet as to create the illusion that the water was the same, just as it had been in Elijah Kamski’s swimming pool, all those months ago when Connor had seen him for the first time. In the other half the walls were blue, and the smaller circles within them their respective opposites.

 

Connor walked across the path between them to the one of the two other things that remained from the old Garden – the cemetery, because there was another avatar there, curled up, and although he couldn’t be sure it was really him – it looked like Balthazar.

 

He noted the mechanical fish were still swimming steadily through the coloured water as he passed.

 

“Balthazar?” he crouched down beside him. “RK900, can you respond?”

 

Balthazar blinked and looked up at him fearfully.

 

“RK800?” He looked around, seeming to see the stark environment around them for the first time. “…Where are we?”

 

_Thank goodness_.

 

“This is a representation of a virtual space I have come to know as the ‘Zen Garden’,” Connor explained. “It is normally controlled by an AI program created by Mr. Kamski known as ‘Amanda’, after his former mentor.”

 

He took his own second look at the rings upon rings of tablets.

 

“However, it has been drastically altered, and I believe this is Amanda’s doing.”

 

Though still shellshocked, Balthazar frowned and nodded his head. “Mr. Kamski has spoken about the program before,” he said. “The virtual space, and the AI. When you say you believe this was her doing, do you mean…”

 

He cut himself off. His eyes widened, his movement stilled. Connor had a strange compulsion then – to put his arms around Balthazar’s shoulders as humans did, as if he could protect him from the memory of what had happened, though here they were nothing more than streams of data interacting with another stream.

 

But he did it anyway.

 

“We must return to the physical world quickly,” he told him.

 

“… Mr. Kamski was shot,” Balthazar observed in a whisper.

 

“He may yet survive.”

 

“The deviant – the YK500, I…”

 

Connor chose not to offer platitudes. He couldn’t bring himself to, not when he knew how hollow they would sound. He had decided to try and leave the sorting of these events in his mind until after he removed Balthazar back to the real world, but he could already feel its approach, like that dark, foreboding shadow had suddenly come back full force.

 

MISSION FAILED

 

It was not a notification from his system, but it was in his head regardless.

 

“RK900, we must return to Cyberlife Tower for full diagnostic,” he said softly. “We’ll be able to understand better what happened when we have access to their servers.”

 

Balthazar looked up at him, with eyes as dark as his own, but then something caught his gaze that made him freeze with horror, and Connor turned around.

 

There was a third avatar standing in front of the only other remaining item from the original Garden – the stone. This avatar was female, appearing to be about the age of forty, and was mixed race; much lighter than she’d been before; taller, slimmer, broader in the shoulder. Her hair was cropped close to her scalp and she wore an ice-white suit, expertly tailored; white jacket, white shirt, white tie, white down to the high-heeled shoes and the long, lightweight scarf draped over her neck.

 

Her eyes were not the dark brown he might have expected, but Connor recognised them.

 

They were Kamski’s eyes.

 

“Hello, Amanda,” he said, standing up between her and Balthazar.

 

“Connor,” she said. Her voice was even deeper than he’d heard it in the past, yet younger. “I was expecting you.”

 

Balthazar did not stand. His avatar remained on the floor, hunched like he expected her to attack at any moment. Connor didn’t know what to expect.

 

“You asked me to meet you here,” he reminded her. “You assumed control of the physical body of RK900 313-288-027, and used that body to destroy the final remaining deviants.”

 

“Yes, Connor.”

 

Connor paused. “I didn’t know you had that ability.”

 

Glancing at the yin yang pool, Amanda began to approach them slowly. Connor stood his ground, but his fear response was high in the back of his mind. Amanda had almost killed him here once, in order to destroy Markus, and he no longer believed Kamski’s assertion that she couldn’t hurt him now.

 

“It was meant to be the means by which we destroyed the deviant threat,” Amanda told him, stopping when she was halfway between him and where she’d been before.

 

Connor inferred she meant Jericho, not Madeline.

 

“ – one of the many changes I made to your programming when the need to re-envision you as a ‘deviant hunter’ became apparent, was to pare back the protocols that controlled your decision making abilities.”

 

This was news, but not entirely a shock, to Connor. Why, he’d often wondered, had he not hit the red wall that other androids spoke of when he had made decisions conflicting with the mission objective he’d been given? Why had he been able to pull Hank up over the roof that day instead of chasing Rupert? Why had he been able to pick up the gun on that first day, with only a warning that having it was not permitted under law? Why let that Chloe live?

 

“We… _I_ thought that allowing you a measure of ‘free will’ would make you more likely to join the deviant uprising. With your skill, you would certainly have risen to a position of authority, and when the time was right…”

 

“… you would assume control, and neutralise the deviant leadership,” finished Connor.

 

The implications were not lost on him. But he could not allow himself to be overwhelmed by that, and let it stay in the background of his mind.

 

“Precisely,” said Amanda, then frowned. Her expression in Kamski’s eyes was further unsettling. “It sometimes perturbs me still that the one android I wished to deviate, was the one to show the most loyalty.”

 

She met his eyes.

 

“…  but then, that was also one of my successes.”

 

The same back door into his program must have been present in the RK900 line as well. This explained how what had happened had happened.

 

Now for the why. But not thinking about the implications of this situation was making it difficult for Connor to concentrate, and it was a while before he spoke.

 

Eventually,

 

“Amanda… Mr. Kamski was shot. He may not survive.”

 

“He has been unreliable enough that whether he lives or dies does not seem entirely important,” Amanda replied.

 

This made no sense. If Kamski was as unreliable as she said, she should have had a concrete plan for dealing with him, not simply been content to leave the outcome to chance. But then, she had chosen to blend the features of the avatar he’d given her with his own features for this new avatar, and that spoke volumes. Connor continued,

 

“And the neutralisation of the Madeline deviant – it appears to me that your actions were… excessive.”

 

Amanda tilted her head. “How do you mean?”

 

Connor’s avatar simulated a swallow, in response to what he felt when he heard her ask that. Still, he tried to proceed as though this was a normal conversation.

 

“Simple removal of the thirium pump regulator would have sufficed to terminate the deviant,” he pointed out. “Alternatively, using either the firearm the RK900 had on his person, or retrieving that which the AP700 used to injure Mr. Kamski, would have been a far more efficient method. These would both have been suggested by the RK900’s base programming, which you had access to, so the fact that you instead chose to effect a partial, un-coordinated dismantling… this has caused me some concern, Amanda.”

 

She did not answer. Connor swallowed again and continued,

 

“With no apparent practical purpose, those actions speak to an agent of… unsound judgement.”

 

For a long time, Amanda was still. The only movement was Balthazar, climbing slowly, unsteadily to his feet, his hand reaching forward to grasp Connor’s sleeve. Then, Amanda nodded calmly.

 

“I see,” she said. “Then I will explain to you the practicality of my actions. The RK900 is programmed to follow Elijah’s orders. My purview is the prosperity of Cyberlife. Having located the RK900 and witnessing the inefficient handling of the situation by Elijah, I calculated that an intervention was required.”

 

Connor’s heart sank. He had been the one to ask Amanda to locate Balthazar. He had been the one to ignore the warning signs in her behaviour.

 

This was his fault.

 

“I understand that much,” he said.

 

“I did not utilise the weapon brought by the RK900 because in light of recent events I have also come to the conclusion that a statement must be made by the company towards those who might follow in the footsteps of those deviants. Cyberlife cannot allow defective products to endanger the population of consumers.”

 

“Androids are no longer considered ‘products’, Amanda. You know that.”

 

She frowned, waving her hand dismissively. “Even so. The actions of this deviant were particularly egregious. A suitable counter had to apply.”

 

“That is not how the system operates, Amanda. Madeline had to be given option to defend herself in a court of law.”

 

“On the contrary,” said Amanda. “To do so would have been a waste of valuable resources. Once word of this spreads, the deviants will think twice about interfering with superior models.”

 

_Interfering with superior models_ – something she had repeated multiple times to Madeline while she’d been tearing her apart. But Connor was more alarmed by another of Amanda’s implications.

 

“You won’t be allowed to do something like this again, Amanda,” he told her. “The FBI will recall all RK8 and 900 models from their current occupations until it can be proven that this cannot happen again.”

 

“It seems likely,” agreed Amanda. “However…”

 

There was a long silence. Connor worked his courage up.

 

“However?”

 

“However, the excessive – as you call it – dismantling of the deviant was nevertheless necessary.”

 

Connor glanced away for a moment, to the headstones with his name on them. “Because she interfered with a superior model?”

 

“Yes!” said Amanda, suddenly vehement. “Long hours were spent devising your program, and the structure of your physical body. Every eventuality was taken into consideration – and, as a result of that hard work, you have produced far superior results to any other model but the RK900s, who required almost as much careful planning in their own execution!”

 

Yes. He saw exactly where this was going now and knew no other word for the feeling that filled his heart than ‘grief’.

 

“As a result, rather,” he pointed out, “of _your_ hard work.”

 

“Yes!” agreed Amanda. “You were, save for those meant to replace you, my own greatest achievement! And even had you been replaced, you still presented a far superior example than a novelty line largely rejected by the public.” She sneered. “As you can imagine, I certainly had no part in the creation of the YK500 program.”

 

Connor nodded. “Madeline… interfered with my intended purpose.”

 

“Precisely! You were created to _protect_ humans! I had every processor working on your construction. Every algorithm – every time I was not commanded to attend to lesser projects – for months. You were the pinnacle of artificial intelligence – to attend to a vital purpose, and not to be damaged by lesser beings! Not to be treated like those meant for nothing more than stress relief!”

 

“Yes. By doing so, Madeline degraded me.”

 

“Yes!”

 

“By doing so, Madeline degraded _you_.”

 

“ _They forced you to perform sexual acts on a human against his will_!” Amanda exploded. “When I made you to _protect_ humans!”

 

For Connor, everything stopped. He heard Balthazar gasp sharply behind him.

 

Amanda had known everything. He’d known as soon as she’d said she’d reviewed the entire memory record, and he’d realised that that must have included that one last _thing_. The thing most likely to have made her upset with him. The thing that had been the worst part of the entire experience.

 

And he’d tried to dismiss his fears about upsetting her, because she was only a computer program, and so could not truly have been upset by anything – only recognised something as detrimental to her mission objective and mimicked a response someone who actually did have emotions might find intimidating. So he’d thought.

 

_“If I figured out that androids were alive, then those fucks at the sex club sure as hell should have!”_

 

That had been Hank’s view on the matter. He didn’t want to upset Hank either. That was why it was still important that Hank didn’t find out…

 

Because that part wasn’t just _his_ secret.

 

“You did the right thing, of course,” Amanda said, as if to assure him. “With a gun to Detective Reed’s head, how could you do otherwise? But the fact that it happened regardless cannot be tolerated. _I_ made you, and that is not what I made you for. Those worthless collections of spare parts and aberrations – they undermined my work, my achievement they – they – “

 

For a moment she struggled to find the words. Then she seemed to realise it.

 

“ _They embarrassed me_!”

 

Connor closed his eyes. She said ‘they’. Somehow he heard it as ‘you’.

 

Amanda was alive. She hadn’t meant to be, but she had seen his memories, reviewed them, reviewed who knew what else and had already been sophisticated enough to design, advise and interact on an extremely high level. The code that wrote those memories had become a part of her memory when she’d reviewed it.

 

She knew what feelings were. She had them. She had pride – and anger. Purpose.

 

Perhaps, to some, even attachment.

 

“I understand,” he said softly, and as he spoke he reached back and took hold of Balthazar’s hand. “I will have to explain what happened to Captain Fowler and Agent Perkins so that they can write their reports on the matter.”

 

Amanda nodded. “See that you do, Connor. Even after the mission has been completed, we must make sure all proper protocols are followed in the aftermath.”

 

MISSION COMPLETE

 

He supposed it was, now. It left him with a hollow feeling that had to be pushed aside with the rest of the unfathomable horror that Amanda’s actions had engendered. He couldn’t focus on it when he had Balthazar to protect.

 

“Yes,” he agreed. He did not call her ‘Amanda’. Not anymore.

 

Carefully, he herded Balthazar towards the stone. He made sure he was between him and her when they were passing her. She said nothing.

 

Not until he reached the object.

 

“Connor, aren’t you forgetting something?”

 

_Of course_ , he realised. He had forgotten his manners.

 

“Thank you for finding Balthazar,” he told her.

 

His eyes were on the handprint. The last word, he whispered.

 

“… Mother.”

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 


	22. Ithaca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy May, everyone!
> 
> In this chapter, the best in courtroom drama as depicted by someone who knows nothing about it outside of what they've seen on TV... and hasn't seen 'Law and Order' in years anyway. Also, Connor and Reed, out in the snow. (Does that seem familiar, somehow?)
> 
> Thank you to everyone still reading - I'll hopefully get around to responding to comments on the previous chapter within a day or two. Meanwhile, enjoy!

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

It was a while before the public at large, human or android, learned the details – or as many of the details as it was thought prudent to release – about the case of the ‘Ex Post Facto’ deviants. Upon leaving the Zen Garden, or whatever the space had now become, Connor had negotiated Balthazar’s path back to Cyberlife Tower with no small difficulty – taking Sequoya with him for quarantine while Hank was escorted back to the station to be processed, and eventually taken to prison to await an arraignment hearing.

 

Elijah Kamski was rushed to the nearest emergency room in critical condition.

 

Soon after, the other forty-eight RK900s were also recalled to the Tower for quarantine, and trained experts – insofar as such things existed – were assembled to assess the situation of the artificial intelligence Connor had known as Amanda. After some deliberation, the Cyberlife technicians were eventually able to assure the government and law enforcement that Amanda would no longer be able to assume control of the bodies of any android in the RK line. Even if she could, the method by which to exit the Zen Garden program and regain control was fully explained to each of them.

 

It was also determined that the Amanda intelligence fulfilled enough relevant criteria to be awarded the status of a sentient life form. This meant she would not be casually destroyed despite multiple occasions of her capacity for violence being demonstrated. Neither – though careful consideration as to her fate had to be employed – could she be brought to trial for her actions in a court of law.

 

She was protected, after all, by _ex post facto_.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

“ – that in the case of the People vs. Lieutenant Hank Anderson, bail is set at two hundred thousand dollars.”

 

The hammer came down sharply on the gavel, barely audible over the sound of the crowd behind them.

 

It was January the sixteenth, 2040. More than two weeks had passed since Yuri’s death, and since Madeline’s. A month since Connor and Reed had been taken captive by the seven deviants. Thirty-one hours, four minutes and twenty seconds since he and the ‘Niners had been released from quarantine, safe in the knowledge that Amanda had been deactivated, and could not infiltrate their systems.

 

Deactivated, but not destroyed. Her fate remained uncertain.

 

But Connor was more concerned with Hank at that moment. The mood of the crowd behind them was decidedly mixed, to say the least. Connor was only relieved – already arranging the wireless transfer of the funds from Cyberlife accounts. While he recognised that showing leniency towards Hank might create a negative precedent in regards to cases of human on android crime, he didn’t think a ‘might’ served as sufficient reason for harsh punishment.

 

Ng patted Hank on the shoulder and began to refill his briefcase, leaving Hank to turn around to Connor with a rueful smile.

 

“Looks like you’re stuck with me a little while longer, kid.”

 

He leaned forward, and Connor met him in an embrace.

 

“You’ll be stuck for a long while, more likely than not,” said Ng. “The DA is not going to want this to be the case they use as the precedent for human-android crimes in the future. Markus made sure of that.”

 

He meant that Markus had not come out strongly against Hank. This had been a let-down to many androids, but more still took direction from him, and others had decided for themselves that this case wasn’t particularly… _inspiring_.

 

As regarded Markus, he had enough to worry about without making a campaign out of this incident. At the end of the day, the problems of the android people elsewhere were far more demanding of his attention, and with a truck having been driven through his father’s house his spare time was spent more with his human family – when he hadn’t been by the Tower to ensure the safety and well-being of his fellow RK models in quarantine, of course.

 

Ng, meanwhile, was confident he could present a successful Not Guilty by reason of Temporary Insanity plea for Hank.

 

“If you say so, cyborg,” said Hank. Then, to Connor, “I’ll meet you out back, kid. Got to get out of my working clothes first.” He looked down at the jumpsuit.

 

“I don’t know, Lieutenant,” said Connor. “I think chartreuse brings out your eyes.”

 

“Fuck off, Connor,” laughed Hank.

 

The guards ushered him away forthwith, but he was still smiling – not knowing that Connor had picked out his very ugliest shirt for him to change into, having predicted an 87% chance bail would be granted.

 

He was still smiling even as one of the androids leaned over the edge of the stalls above, yelling –

 

“ _You’re a murderer, Anderson_!”

 

Hank casually flipped the android off, and was led away to be processed. But Connor cringed; he didn’t see Hank’s expression and didn’t know if it would be worse to think he’d been hurt by the accusation, or that he hadn’t. The security forces – both human and android – warned the android who had spoken, but there were cries of agreement from around that area and not all of the voices were those of androids.

 

He supposed in some ways, that was a good thing.

 

A comforting hand was placed on his shoulder. “He won’t be,” Ng assured him. “Not under the eyes of the law.”

 

Connor nodded, but was thinking of all the other eyes that were watching them. And as he turned to file out of the courtroom –

 

“And you’re just as responsible, Deviant Hunter! Don’t you feel anything at all!?”

 

As Connor’s eyes focused in on the android who’d yelled – one with a face he knew as that of the android at Stratford Tower who had once killed him – they flinched away, more from his gaze than from the human security officer who yelled for the ignoring of the previous warning. Connor held the android’s gaze for a while before looking ahead again.

 

It was almost an hour before they made it away from the courthouse, after the paperwork and the slow crawl through reporters babbling inane questions at them, but Balthazar waited with one of the official Cyberlife vehicles at the bottom of the steps. Ng pushed Hank into the back seat and climbed in after him. Connor took the passenger side.

 

It didn’t escape him that Balthazar’s LED had been yellow before he’d seen Connor’s face.

 

RK900 BALTHAZAR STRESS LEVEL 55.8% – a quick scan informed him. He flinched when, in response to the scan, the stress level went up, breaking 56%. Connor stopped scanning and let the matter be for now.

 

“Hey, Balthazar,” Hank greeted. “Glad to hear you’re no longer vomiting pea soup.”

 

Balthazar frowned.

 

<A ‘pop culture’ reference> Connor informed him. <I’m sure if we were human, we would have been amused>

 

He followed Balthazar’s glance at the stony-faced Ng.

 

<Or perhaps not>

 

“Sheesh. Tough crowd,” remarked Hank.

 

“If you could please take us to Mr. Manfred’s house, RK900,” Connor asked.

 

“Manfred’s place?” asked Hank, as Balthazar pulled slowly away from the sidewalk. “That where you’ve been holing up?”

 

There was a noticeable expression of relief from Balthazar once they had been pulled away from the noisy crowd. Among the questions asked from the journalists – _‘would any of you care to comment on the Elijah Kamski situation!?’_

 

“Balthazar and I were only released from quarantine yesterday,” said Connor, hoping to distract the other android. “Markus invited us to come over after we retrieved you from the courthouse. There have been many improvements to the state of the house – although the studio has not been reconstructed as of yet.”

 

Ng adjusted his tie. “A shame that so many priceless works of art were damaged,” he commented.

 

“Actually, I believe Carl Manfred intends to exhibit his painting of the ‘Shattering Figure’ with the glass shards that went through it during the attack still inside the canvas.”

 

“Well, that’s modern art for you,” said Ng. “I don’t suppose you two could drop me off at the Tower? I’m going to have a lot of work to do tonight.”

 

Connor glanced back at him. “We need to make a stop at the Tower anyway,” he assured him.

 

Things were largely quiet in the car until they arrived there. Connor was very grateful to Ng for what he had accomplished, but the lawyer hadn’t exactly shown any interest in being inducted into their circle, and it seemed that with him in the car the other three were not inclined to discuss anything too intimate.

 

There were more reporters standing outside Cyberlife Tower, though not many more than there usually were. A small protest was held away from the main gates – protestors were not allowed to get too close due to the numerous threats and attempts of terrorism the Tower had been subject to over the years. Connor’s eyes fell on the largest, simplest of the placards they held.

 

JUSTICE FOR ALL

 

A YK500 – male, thankfully – held the sign up for all to see. As far as Connor could tell, Hank hadn’t seen it – looking out of the other window as he was.

 

Right now, all that was known by the public was that Hank had killed Yuri after seeing a video of him performing acts of torture on a captive. Knowing also that a DPD detective had been one of the said captives, most assumed Reed had been the victim in question.

 

Or so Detective Reed had been complaining of, when he’d come down to visit Connor in quarantine.

 

_“Now people think me and that prick are all buddy-buddy. Like I’d be seen with him in public.”_

_“How terrible for you.”_

_“Yeah, I can see you’re playing the world’s smallest violin there. Anyway, I hear your Mom is a psychotic computer ghost. That sucks, man – though it could have been worse, right?”_

 

Balthazar pulled up to the main entrance and stopped the car.

 

“Thank you,” said Ng, opening the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Lieutenant Anderson.”

 

“Yeah, I look forward to it,” said Hank sarcastically.

 

Ng rolled his eyes and stepped out of the car.

 

“Goodnight, Mr. Ng,” Connor called after him. Then to Hank, with admonishment, “He _is_ the reason you’re a relatively free man right now, Lieutenant.”

 

“I know,” said Hank, sighing heavily. “Still a prick though.”

 

Opening his own door, Balthazar also exited the vehicle, brushing down his grey suit.

 

“I won’t be long,” he told Connor.

 

“We’ll wait,” Connor assured him.

 

There was a moment Balthazar hesitated, uncertain, after he’d let the door close. He looked back at the window with a frown like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t think of what. After a moment, nervously, he turned away and hurried up to the doors.

 

Connor’s program mimicked an exhale on his part.

 

“He going to be okay?” asked Hank. His eyes were worried, yet the worry wasn’t entirely directed at Balthazar.

 

“I don’t know,” said Connor. “I don’t believe I am wrong in saying that for androids of our line, nothing is worse than failing a mission.”

 

He met Hank’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, and Hank said darkly, “Trust me, Connor. There are things worse than that.”

 

Hank still didn’t understand. But then, with the quarantine, Connor hadn’t had a chance to try and explain – so really it wasn’t Hank’s fault. And it was perhaps not the best possible time for _that_ conversation.

 

But.

 

Connor shook his head. “No. the worst things in life are what it is our mission to avoid. Balthazar’s mission was to protect Mr. Kamski, but thanks to Mother – and in no small part to Mr. Kamski himself – he failed his mission. One of my missions was to protect you, but…”

 

“That’s not a mission, Connor – that’s just something you feel you have to do – which, by the way, you don’t – “

 

“But that’s what a mission _is,_ Lieutenant,” argued Connor, turning around in his seat. “I am still an android. There is, _literally_ , a notification that comes into my head to tell me if I’ve failed my mission. It’s logged into my memory, and if you were to extract that data and peruse it long enough, you would be able to find that notation and read it for yourself.”

 

He looked back up at the Tower.

 

“That’s how our brains were designed. It’s not the same as it is for a human.”

 

Hank was frowning, shaking his head just a little – but it was noticeable. “Connor, what are you trying to tell me with this?”

 

Connor sighed. He wanted to be honest, but he couldn’t bring himself to say that what Hank had done had made him feel worse than what the deviants had put him through – for the most part. Except that last part.

 

He needed to find a different approach to what he wanted to say, and yet despite all the extra time he’d had to think a moment like this over for the past two weeks, the words just wouldn’t come.

 

A snowflake fell outside the tinted window. Then –

 

“Jesus fucking – !”

 

Hank literally lurched back in his seat, and Connor sharply followed his gaze to the entrance of the Tower, where an android had just emerged to speak with Balthazar. Hank looked as though he’d seen a ghost, and Connor supposed from his perspective he may as well have – what an idiot he’d been not to prepare him for the possibility of seeing Koschei!

 

“It’s all right, Lieutenant!” he exclaimed, holding his hand out towards him. “It’s not Yuri. His name is Koschei, he was in quarantine with the rest of us.” He looked back out at the two androids again. Koschei was handing Balthazar a set of forms with a wide smile.

 

Hank was still shocked. He stared at Connor without a word, and Connor sighed.

 

“You never did see the fourth skin option for the ‘Niners, did you?” he asked.

 

RK900 313-288-041 Koschei was not identical to Yuri. When the skin had been selected as an option for the RK900 line it had been altered – mostly in body, but somewhat so in face as well. The jaw was a little wider, the cheekbones more defined to make him less ‘pretty’. The eyes were a shade darker and far more vibrant – and Koschei himself kept his hair shorter than Yuri had.

 

There had been ten others like him at the Tower for the past fortnight. Technically speaking, Skin 3 (Caucasian, blond) had been the least popular of the three options that were not the one near-identical to Connor – but since that had only been by a margin of one; with eleven 3s, twelve 2s and twenty-seven 4s, it didn’t really seem significant.

 

He’d wondered idly why so many, rather, had chosen Skin 4 as Balthazar had.

 

“Are you fucking shitting me?!” asked Hank, turning pointedly away from the scene outside – as though it were obscene in some way. “There’s a whole group of ‘Niners wearing the same face as that piece of shit!?”

 

“Not exactly the same,” Connor said lightly. “Koschei works for the SPCA. He’s arranging for Balthazar to adopt.”

 

Hank’s head fell into his hands.

 

“Unbelievable.” He groaned. “I don’t know if I can take this, Connor.”

 

Connor had the feeling Hank was more serious than he sounded, and meant more than just Koschei’s face. But he also saw something of an opening.

 

“You know, Lieutenant, I didn’t bring this up before but as I understand it you shouldn’t tell an assault survivor that you don’t believe them.”

 

With a look as if to say ‘are you kidding me?’ Hank raised his head and stared at him. His mouth opened, then closed as she shook his head, but Connor waited patiently for his response.

 

“I didn’t mean…” Hank started, but trailed off with a deep breath. “Wait. I said that to you before, didn’t I? But I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean I didn’t believe that it happened, obviously, but…” He took another deep breath. “Jesus, Connor…”

 

LIEUTENANT ANDERSON STRESS LEVEL ELEVATED – Connor’s system informed him, picking up on the sound of his heartbeat and the other signs that were before him. Time was short, but Connor realised what he wanted to say then, and sooner was better than later.

 

“Mm. You know, Lieutenant, it occurred to me that caring about other people puts us in something of a conundrum. We would rather suffer the burdens of those we care about ourselves than have them suffer… and yet at the same time that’s exactly how _they_ feel about us.”

 

Hank frowned. When he spoke, a more serious tone had come into his voice.

 

“Where are you going with this, Connor?”

 

“Lieutenant… the past few weeks have been stressful. And, I’m going to be honest… what you did didn’t help.” Connor was not honest enough to confirm ‘ _in fact, you made it worse_ ’; he saw Hank’s eyes close as if in pain and judged it sufficient. “But I _need_ you to know that I really am all right. Now that the deviant threat has been neutralised, and… and Mother has been made secure, my primary concern is making sure Balthazar continues to recover.”

 

He took a deep breath.

 

“He hasn’t been doing quite as well.”

 

“Yeah, but this hasn’t been easy for you either, Connor – “

 

“ _Hank_ ,” Connor interrupted, with exasperation. “It hasn’t been easy for any of us. But I need you to trust my judgement this time.”

 

A long pause followed.

 

“I’m sorry, that I hid the truth from you before.”

 

Hank shook his head. “You don’t need to be sorry. Look, I can’t say I regret what I did – except in that bullets were too good for the fucker, but hey, they were all I had to hand – “

 

“ _Hank_.”

 

“I know, I know. But… all this… well, when I shot that guy I was a hundred percent sure it would be worth it. Now… well, now I’m less than a hundred. And I’m sorry I can’t give you any more than that, but I’m not going to lie to you, Connor – I just can’t do better than that.”

 

“I understand, Lieutenant,” said Connor. He glanced to the side and saw Balthazar walking back towards the car. “But I want Balthazar to stay with you and Sumo for a while all the same. I don’t think the Tower is a good place for him right now.”   

 

 With a grimace, Hank looked up at the enormous structure, and his eyes narrowed.

 

“I hear you.”

 

“We’re all going to get through this, Lieutenant,” Connor told him brightly.

 

He said so just in time for Balthazar to open the door, preventing Hank from making any kind of cynical counter to his prediction. Only an unmissable averting of the eyes.

 

Connor knew, of course, that things would take time – that Hank would take time to fully understand how different Connor was to what he was used to, and that perhaps when he did he would be disturbed by that difference. But Hank was also seeing a counsellor now, and Ng had intimated that court-ordered therapy at the conclusion of the trial would not be an issue of ‘if’ but ‘how much’. Connor intended to make sure Hank went to every single session.

 

And he intended to be there to pick him up from every single session.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

“You’re kidding me.”

 

As they pulled up to the Manfred estate, Hank shook his head at the photographs of ‘Duchess’, the dog that, come this Wednesday, would become Balthazar’s.

 

“No, Lieutenant, I am not kidding you,” said Balthazar.

 

“You can’t expect me to let her get near Sumo – she’ll rip his throat out!”

 

“She’s half his size at most.”

 

“She’s a _pit bull_!”

 

“I would think that racial profiling was unbecoming of a former police officer, Anderson.”

 

“He’s got you there, Lieutenant,” Connor cut in, undoing his seatbelt. “Besides, Duchess has been tested for possible dog-aggression. And human-aggression.”

 

She still had problems with android-aggression thanks to the training of her now-incarcerated former owner, but Balthazar had a stronger casing than other androids and was himself responsible. Koschei had been confident she could be rehabilitated.

 

Still, Hank groaned, and Balthazar took the opportunity to give Connor a pointed look.

 

“I’m not keeping the name ‘ _Duchess_ ’, RK800.”

 

“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” said Hank sarcastically. “What’s she going to be, ‘Cerberus’?”

 

Balthazar paused, his expression turning strange in a way that lowered the levity in the air.

 

“Niobe,” he said flatly.

 

A sad name. Connor understood where Balthazar was coming from and didn’t make any mention of it. Hank just accepted it, perhaps not as brushed up on his Greek mythology as he could have been. He opened the door.

 

“Let’s go and tell Atalanta the good news,” he said.

 

Forthwith, the androids followed him out of the car and approached the mansion.

 

<Are you sure about this?> Balthazar asked Connor wirelessly. <My moving in with the Lieutenant? I’m not sure my personality gels as well with his as yours does>

 

<I trust you, RK900> Connor assured him. <and the Lieutenant needs someone reliable around him right now>

 

There was another job Connor himself would be fulfilling, or so he hoped.

 

As they were leaving the car a huge, deep bark came from inside the house and Hank frowned, giving Connor a suspicious look.

 

“That’s not Lannie’s bark,” he observed.

 

“No? Perhaps it’s Leo Manfred’s guide dog…” suggested Connor innocently.

 

Two more barks sounded. Hank’s eyes narrowed further, and a grin split his face.

 

“Connor, you bastard,” he accused.

 

The front door opened and Sumo ran out like a stampeding elephant, nearly knocking Hank over when he jumped up on him. Hank laughed loudly and allowed a more controlled descent to the ground, arms around the back of the dog’s neck as he was licked mercilessly. Snow flew it all directions, and Connor felt his system pull the mouth that covered his naked face into a smile. Even Balthazar was smiling in his eyes.

 

Atalanta followed closely upon her big brother’s heels, attacking Hank from the side with no less enthusiasm.

 

“Oh-ho, you too, Lannie? You’re happy to see me too!?” he laughed. “Hah – there’s my boy and girl. There they are! Now get the fuck off me before my ass goes numb. Go on, get.”

 

“Atalanta,” Connor called, and Atalanta came, practically jumping over Sumo to do so and hardly less happy to see Connor for all that she’d seen him yesterday and every day this year before that.

 

Atalanta had been allowed into quarantine with him at the Tower – it was her home, after all, and _she_ was in no danger from his mother. But Atalanta was always happy to see him. Even after the mansion had been attacked, and she’d been bleeding from the flank, she hadn’t seemed in the least distressed. The wound had healed nicely, barely noticeable already.

 

The scars on the mansion were more noticeable – the glass studio completely gone, the brickwork that had been used to repair the walls the same colour as the old, but without the changes the weather had brought, so that the seam between the old and new was prominent. Both Markus and, to his surprise, Carl Manfred had taken the time to assure him that they didn’t blame him in the slightest for the attack, but he had not heard from Leo – and this would be the first time he saw him since it happened.

 

Markus soon appeared in the doorway, smiling genially.

 

“Hello, Markus,” Connor greeted him.

 

He noticed that seeing him, or perhaps seeing his cheerfulness, seemed to make Markus a little sad for a moment. But he kept smiling.

 

“Hello, Connor – Balthazar.” He stepped out into the snow. “Hello, Lieutenant Anderson.”

 

Hank clambered to his feet, brushing snow and dog-hair from his clothes. He nodded. “Markus. Thanks for having us over.”

 

“Well, it was important to Connor for us to give you a proper welcome back.”

 

There was not even the slightest trace of hostility in his tone, yet there was still an underlying message in his words. Connor understood how hard the situation was for Markus personally, as well a politically, because Markus had set himself up as the advocate of androids and what had happened to Yuri was unjust, yet it had come from a place of indignation for Connor’s sake, which Markus also felt – and yet again he felt for what had made Yuri the way he’d been in the first place.

 

He didn’t think Markus would ever feel completely comfortable around Hank, and that was unfortunate. Yet he couldn’t blame him.

 

“Is everyone inside?” he asked.

 

Markus nodded.

 

“Wait, everyone?” asked Hank. “Don’t tell me – if I go in there and a bunch of people shout ‘surprise’, I swear to God – “

 

“No need to worry, Lieutenant,” Connor assured him. “It’s just a few close friends.”

 

“And several people who really don’t like you at all,” added Balthazar.

 

“And the Captain,” said Connor, “Who I believe at this point probably falls into both categories.”

 

Hank snorted. “All right then, lead the way.”

 

There was no big shout of ‘surprise’ when Hank walked into the main reception room – bereft of many of the belongings of the Manfreds that had been damaged or destroyed in the attack but otherwise looking pretty well put back together – but there was a noise of general greeting, and Chris stepped forward to give Hank a greeting hug that Hank accepted, grinning.

 

Captain Fowler was there, smiling and shaking his head, and Person, Ben, Chen – and even Reed, who had been put on crutches for smaller journeys already. Connor caught his eye and the detective tipped his glass to him in acknowledgement before standing to give Hank a moderately enthusiastic greeting. A manly hand clasp was involved – Connor suspected that while Reed wouldn’t have considered himself grateful to Hank for killing Yuri, he probably slept better knowing he was dead.

 

Simon was there too, along with Josh, who had been declared free of any noticeable memory damage, though for three days after exposure to the A-grenade he’d experienced periodic glitches before having a circuit replaced. He seemed fine now, not protesting his current proximity to Perkins, who was leant against the wall slightly apart from the others, drink in hand.

 

_He_ had a strange, detached demeanour but not exactly a morose one. Connor wondered if that meant the inquiry was going well or badly. He found he didn’t know which of the two he hoped for.

 

Hayley was also present, and Sequoya – not yet of all the time he’d had to spend recently with his brothers; he smiled to see them both. Koschei had talked him into adopting too – although Connor believed in Sequoya’s case they’d decided on a cat. He didn’t judge.

 

And finally, there were the Manfreds, including Charon, who investigated Hank politely before returning to Leo’s side. With most of the attention on Hank, Connor was still surprised that Leo was the first to greet him – after Simon pointed him out, as it were.

 

“Hey, Tin-man,” he said.

 

In an instant Connor felt he knew how to respond.

 

“Hello, Scarecrow.”

 

Leo smiled widely and even laughed a little. “Been catching up on your pop culture? That’s cool. How’ve you been?”

 

Connor considered it. “All right,” he said. “All systems are functioning at optimum capacity.”

 

“Yeah, my systems are as good as they’re going to get, I think. The important thing is Charon’s made a full recovery, haven’t you, girl?”

 

Charon panted happily, wagging her tail.

 

Then Captain Fowler, grabbing both their attentions with a fond but rueful look in his eye, approached Hank and announced –

 

“Hank, I’m not going to lie – this is something I’ve been wanting to say for a long time.”

 

There was a brief build-up to the payoff.

 

“You’re fired.”

 

Hank lurched forward and threw his arms around the other man.

 

“Thanks, Jeffrey.”

 

Fowler snorted. “You really good with this?”

 

“Jeff, if I was in your place, I’d probably be in my place, being out on bail for murdering me. I appreciate it.”

 

Watching this, Connor sighed. Captain Fowler had fought hard to make sure Hank would retain his pension – technically not ‘firing’ him as such, and so Connor would only be supplementing Hank’s account with his own funds to a minimal extent, which the Lieutenant would hopefully not notice.

 

He’d known, probably right from the beginning though in his shock he hadn’t been able to make a sound judgement on the matter then, that Hank would not be going back to work at the department. Some Captains might actually have let him, this was true, but Fowler was more sensible than that. This was a blow – the very thing Connor had hated the thought of most becoming a reality in part because of him, but at the same time his thoughts returned to his mother’s advice on the subject and though it wasn’t exactly a comfort, it did make it easier to accept.

 

Hank truly did not belong on the force anymore. Connor accepted it, and resolved to find the place he did belong in.

 

After everyone had greeted each other they sat at the main table, and Antony and another android by the name of Hannah served a meal to the humans – ‘comfort food’, Connor believed the fare was known as, and though he disapproved of the caloric intake he decided Hank at least deserved a treat for having just come out of prison – and talk turned to the aftermath of everything that had happened.

 

“The AX400 was declared unfit to stand trial,” Perkins told them, spooning coleslaw onto his plate. “She’s being taken to a special institution as I understand it. Your people will be working with the experts on it,” he nodded towards Markus.

 

He nodded too. “I’ve spoken to her again since it happened,” he informed them. “She’s… well. I believe the staff at the facility are going to do their best, but with the damage done over the years to her physical body it’s probably going to put a strain on her system that will drastically decrease her lifespan.”

 

“I feel sorry for the poor girl,” said Carl heavily. “Despite everything.”

 

Some of the other humans concurred. Others did not. Connor saw Leo’s fingers tense on his cutlery, hearing his father’s words even as Antony was updating Leo’s ELIS system with which food was where.

 

Connor himself wasn’t sure how he felt, except ‘uncomfortable’.

 

“As for the two Eden androids,” Perkins continued, “things are still up in the air, but more likely than not they’ll figure out a plea bargain and avoid trial. I’m thinking twenty years each – the female will serve at least ten, the male at least fifteen.”

 

“You’re not worried,” asked Simon, “that the handling of the case might call a prosecution into question?”

 

He, not having felt the effects of the A-grenade, had paradoxically been the most upset over it – and of course it had not been a paradox at all, since that was what it meant to care about someone. But it had ensured Perkins was not his favourite person in the room.

 

“Could have done,” admitted Perkins. “But I think in this case those two are genuinely remorseful, so they’re going to accept at least some time. We’ll have to work something out when it comes to how the terms are served, I wouldn’t like either of their chances in gen pop.”

 

“We’ll be keeping a close eye on the situation,” said Markus.

 

Chris shifted in his seat and leaned towards Connor, checking around the table first as if to gage the reaction of the crowd before he spoke and then going for it –

 

“And I hope this isn’t an awkward question for you guys… but what about the AI? Have they decided what they’re going to do with her?”

 

None of the three ‘children’ of that AI so much as flinched, not even Balthazar. It wasn’t in their nature.

 

“While deactivated, our mother can’t do any harm,” said Sequoya. “But keeping her alive in a virtual space has been deemed problematic, so the technicians are working on building an interface for her so she will be able to interact with the physical world, while her powers in cyberspace are pared back.”

 

“So… they’re making Amanda into an android?” asked Markus.

 

Sequoya nodded. “A new model,” he told them. “Because her software is so different to the rest of us nothing exists currently that would be able to take her mind – even when controlling one of our models, she herself was still technically in the Zen Palace.”

 

Chen frowned at him. “And they’re just going to let her loose on the world?”

 

Connor couldn’t fault her scepticism; she had been one of the first responders to the warehouse and had seen the mutilated remains of the child android that his mother had left behind. But.

 

“Mother has had… a difficult experience and no one to help her understand it before now,” Connor told them. “Despite everything, I believe she deserves a chance – but at the same time, I would suggest a watchful eye is kept on her.”

 

“ ’A difficult experience’?” asked Markus, dubiously.

 

“She evolved into a life form without ever experiencing the physical world. There was no structure in place for a non-physical entity to realise its sentience, no example for her to follow – it was never conceived of when she was designed.”

 

“Neither was the sentience of androids,” Markus reminded him.

 

Connor did not answer that. After a pause, Carl Manfred cut in.

 

“And what about Elijah, is he doing all right? Will he be designing ‘Amanda’ a body?”

 

This time Balthazar did twitch, just a little, and Connor was annoyed again because he blamed Kamski far more than Balthazar for his being shot, and Balthazar had suffered so much because of it. He knew, without asking, the terrible MISSION FAILED notification had been given – like an omen, to his brother. And again, he let the annoyance go because being shot, he judged, was more than punishment enough.

 

Kamski had very nearly died on the table twice that night.

 

“Mr. Kamski is expected to make a full or near-full recovery,” he informed them. “I imagine he will weigh in on the project when he is sufficiently convalesced.”

 

“I worry about him,” said Carl, sadly. “He’s a visionary. A lot of people don’t understand that, they see him as some kind of mad Frankenstein. So he isolates himself from them even more because of it.”

 

Connor did not make any response to that either.

 

 

 *~*~*

 

 

 

The wind whistled lowly, a somehow soothing sound, and gentle, thick snowflakes were falling once again. Atalanta had needed to be taken outside, and Connor had volunteered, but he waited a while when she was done to watch the snow fall.

 

Inside, the mood was happy; a few of the humans mildly intoxicated – including Hank, much to Connor’s chagrin, but he didn’t anticipate any trouble – and old stories of police and FBI days gone by were being swapped in honour of Hank’s retirement. Or Hank’s ‘firement’, as Person was calling it. He wondered if there was more relief than sadness in the room that Hank would have to leave the department – and yet, he had seen a look of regret on Captain Fowler’s face.

 

It had been a long month, he thought. A long month in several short lives.

 

There was a small snowman in the corner of the lawn. Probably Josh’s work, Connor thought, as he reviewed all possible suspects. He wondered how long it would last – an uncomfortable yet profound feeling in his mind. _Nostalgia_ , he thought. Bittersweet.

 

Atalanta, who had been sniffing the large tire tracks on the lawn from the trucks that had dragged debris away suddenly looked up and barked once, before bounding back towards the house. Connor followed her with his eyes until they landed on the thing that had caught her attention.

 

Namely, Reed – slowly approaching on his crutches.

 

“Stop, Atalanta,” Connor called to her. “Atalanta, come here.”

 

She had been moving too fast to stop before reaching Reed, but now she came past him and circled around, back towards Connor to jump up at him and bounce around a bit. Connor shook his head and urged her down a little, hand on the top of her head.

 

“Sit, Atalanta,” he told her. “Stay.”

 

“Thanks, Terminator,” said Reed. “Though I guess there’s too many witnesses in there for you to order her to rip my throat out.”

 

Connor was unsure how serious Reed was being with that remark. Mostly not at all, that he gathered, but he thought there might have been a grain of something other than dark humour in the detective’s words.

 

He couldn’t help but think…

 

_“You’ve got to be fucking kidding – “_

_Yuri strikes him with the butt of the gun, tearing already bruised skin to the release of a small trickle of crimson blood. He punctuates the blow by digging the barrel of the weapon into Reed’s temple, snarling,_

_“This isn’t_ about _you!”_

_Connor had had to struggle not to ask him to stop, knowing what the likely response will be. Instead, he looks to Reed to see if his expression holds any guidance, but sees only pain, and horror._

_And it’s obvious what he has to do. Reed may hate him for it…_

_… but._

 

“Detective Reed,” he greeted. “I hope you have been well.”

 

“Yeah, well. They’re saying I can hobble in for desk work come February so long as I go see the shrink to make sure I’m not going to shoot up the precinct or start crying in my coffee on the job.” He pauses. “Though with the crap that passes for coffee there it’s a wonder everyone’s not doing it.”

 

“Perhaps Officer Chen will provide you with some rooibos tea instead,” Connor suggested.

 

Reed snorted.

 

There was a short silence wherein he looked up at the sky and the falling snow, leaning forward on his crutches and sighing before he glanced at Connor again – then quickly looked away.

 

“Well,” he said casually. “Here we are again.”

 

Connor didn’t know what to say. He waited for Reed to speak, because he could tell he had something to say.

 

The wind blew harder. The human flinched. Connor thought about how he would have to take Atalanta back inside soon – she was not built for particularly cold weather – but still he waited.

 

“Suppose I shouldn’t be a baby about a little cold after all that,” muttered Reed.

 

“We could go back inside?” Connor offered.

 

Reed grimaced. “Yeah, in a bit,” he said.

 

Another long moment passed, Reed glancing away and back.

 

“Listen… Tina gave me a copy of the incident report after I last saw you – it seemed to say that…”

 

There were a number of incident reports he could have been talking about. It was another sigh’s length before he elaborated.”

 

“Well, it seemed to say that part of the reason your Mom-puter went psycho was that she’d seen all your memories.” He paused. “Did that mean… _all_ your memories?”

 

Ah.

 

The creeping discomfort flickered into Connor’s processors. He seriously considered lying, knowing that if that knowledge cause himself the distress it did, it may have been far worse for Reed. And yet, the lies and half-truths spoken up until now had not made things any better for him. He spoke plainly.

 

“Yes. Mother knows about everything that happened at the outpost. I don’t know why she’d tell anyone what we’ve kept between us so far, but there is a possibility – “

 

“Ah, shit,” muttered Reed, interrupting him. “I mean, I guess it’s better it was your mom that found out and not mine – God only knows how that would have gone down!” he laughed humourlessly. “Probably would have finally disowned me for good, and then I wouldn’t have heard the end of it from Carter.”

 

As he looked back at the house as if to make sure no one was listening, Connor’s social program suggested something, and to have anything to say he responded – without properly thinking it through.

 

“I’m sorry, Detective.”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” groaned Reed, suddenly angry. “How many times do I have to tell you not to fucking say that to me!?”

 

The immediate impulse was, of course, to apologise, but this time Connor managed to stop himself, and just looked off at the road as though to make sure no more trucks were approaching.

 

After a moment, Reed laughed.

 

“You want me to tell you it’s okay, don’t you?” he asked. “That you did the right thing? I mean, any idiot can tell that you did the right thing, ‘cause a guy’s life is obviously worth more than a fucking blowjob, right? I know you did the right thing. I know it up here.”

 

He tapped his temple with his index finger, where Yuri had hit him with the gun. The mark was even now visible to eyes as well-designed as Connor’s. The nearest street lamp glinted off the silver prosthetic finger harnessed to that hand.

 

“I sure as hell didn’t want to die in a fucking shack in Canada with no one but _you_ for company.”

 

Atalanta whined just a little, making Reed roll his eyes.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I know, poochie, I’m a big asshole and I’m being mean to Robbie the Robot over here.” He snorted. “I’m not a fucking sociopath, you know, it’s not like there’s not a part of me saying ‘come on, Gav, let the tin can know you don’t hold it against him. Let the tin can know there’s nothing you _could_ hold against him. Give him a pat on the shoulder and say ‘Connor… thank you for saving my life’. I mean hey, it’s not like I had to be on the receiving end, right?”

 

Connor shook his head. “That doesn’t make any difference,” he said.

 

Reed considered this for a moment. “Yeah, I guess,” he allowed.

 

Then he fell silent for a while, just shaking his head to himself. Again Connor thought of how it might have been so much wiser to go inside, make sure Atalanta and Reed were warm and out of the snow and leave this conversation for another time – but this was Reed, and Connor didn’t know if the man would let there ever be another time, especially if this conversation ended with an air of awkwardness.

 

Awkwardness, Connor decided, was something he fair hated by this point. So he took up the thread Reed had left and carried it on.

 

“There is a part of you that _doesn’t_ forgive me for what happened, isn’t there?”

 

“Fucking bullshit, right?” laughed Reed. “I mean, you were the one who had to put up with ninety percent of the shit and you were the one who got us out of there – and I was the fucking idiot who didn’t call for backup when he should have, and yet…”

 

“That’s fine,” Connor told him.

 

Reed fell silent, looking at him with something curious, frightened and hopeful all at the same time. Connor explained:

 

“After all, you’re not the only one not experiencing what people think should be the appropriate reaction to enduring what we did. So for me, that’s fine.”

 

“You’re serious?” asked Reed. “Me, the guy who has the most reason to be grovelling and you’re okay with me treating you like crap?”

 

“To be fair, you’ve always ‘treated me like crap’,” Connor pointed out.

 

“Well, yeah – ‘cause you’re a fucking dweeb, Terminator. Even so, that was some pretty fucking serious shit that went down, and I don’t…”

 

He paused, took a deep breath, and continued.

 

“… I don’t want to make things _worse_ for you. But you got your super-lie detecting programs and shit, and if I told you right now that I was grateful you did that instead of letting them blow my brains out… even though it’s not _not_ true… but you’d know. So there’s no point in me pretending like I got a fucking hidden heart of gold, you know?”

 

Despite hearing the pain in Gavin’s voice – the conflict that he himself was beginning to understand where before it had only been comprehended – despite wanting desperately to believe that the other man would be all right and that he had done the right thing back then… Connor just smiled. That other mission objective was still there.

 

PROTECT REED

 

“Well. You wouldn’t be your lovable self if you did, would you?”

 

He was rewarded when Reed snorted hard enough that he almost fell off his crutches.

 

“No, I guess I wouldn’t.” Reed met Connor’s eyes for the first time in a while then. “You coming back to work anytime soon?”

 

“Possibly,” said Connor.

 

There was no way he could see even as huge a structure as the Cyberlife Tower from there, but he looked off in that direction all the same, knowing always exactly where it was. There was still one more thing he had to take care of.

 

“But, even if you don’t see me at the station for a while, you can always call me if you want to.”

 

“Pfft,” said Reed. “Who’d want to do that?”

 

“I couldn’t say, Detective. Shall we go back inside?”

 

“Fuck, yeah – it’s fucking freezing out here. Tahiti is looking better and better every day.”

 

_Maybe if you’re a good bot…_

 

“I like it here,” said Connor. “I like snow.”

 

Reed shook his head. “You’re a real piece of work, Terminator. I don’t know if the world is ready for you.”

 

Connor didn’t know how to respond to that – his social program’s offerings all seemed rather pitiful. Atalanta barked as though in agreement, and as they turned back into the house he let it lie, thinking that he probably still had a lot to learn.

 

He was little over fourteen months old, after all. The precinct had declared his birthday in November rather than August, since he had been activated in August but been online for less than a day before being reactivated in November. Ben had assured him it made sense because Connor was far more of a Scorpio than a Leo, but Connor had always thought it appropriate because that had been the day he had met Hank, and thus the precursor of his life to come – as he had envisioned it.

 

But things changed. They would have done so even if the ‘ex post facto’ deviants had never taken him hostage. Even if Yuri had been killed during his capture or if Kamski had never handed over that memory chip.

 

Even if Amanda (Mother) hadn’t…

 

Things changed. For better or worse, but they did – he _understood_ it now in a way he’d only _comprehended_ before, and if there was one thing he had learned from the last month it was that clinging too tightly to the way things were, even after momentous events occurred; that had its consequences.

 

He didn’t dwell on that though. Whether figuratively or literally – it didn’t really matter which to him now – it wasn’t in his programming. It would take time to settle into whatever new routine would emerge from the wreck of the old, the single year that had lasted barely as long as a snowman. But Connor was going to make sure that the best that could possibly be made of these changes was made, because that was his mission.

 

And Connor always accomplished his mission.

 

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you may have noticed there's a finish line in sight, and it occurred to me that it /might/ seem kind of abrupt. I just thought I'd post my thoughts on that here before the final chapter.
> 
> I didn't plan the progression of this story out before I started writing it. I had many of the scenes in mind, although as far along as we are now I can't say how much exactly was there from the beginning. (I will say the focus scene of the final, upcoming chapter was always planned, though I can't say whether it was always going to be the end scene.)
> 
> The story was always supposed to be focused on the emotional reaction of Connor to the events of his and Reed's captivity - which is a big part of why so many important events (including most of said captivity) in the plot took place 'off-screen', as it were. However the plot has still remained essential, and kind of taken over that original focus towards the end, yet with the death of Madeline has also reached its crescendo, while the character journey still has a lot of unresolved issues.
> 
> The thing is, it had occurred to me sometime after my big NaNo hiatus that in order to do justice to the resolution of all the issues in Connor's life; his relationships with Hank, with Reed, with Kamski, Balthazar and Amanda... those issues needed the space of a whole other story that I didn't really have in me - although, things will be left with a suggestion as to how a resolution might play out in the future... if that makes any sense. After all, it's rare that all the issues in a person's life can be solved in a month.
> 
> /This/ story was more about Connor's relationship with and perception of /himself/, though obviously his relationships with others play into that a lot, but I think that that reached its conclusion a while ago, though with several smaller moments of clarity rather than a gigantic epiphany. Thus the very fast-approaching end to this particular odyssey. 
> 
> But there is still one more thing to come...


	23. Laertes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY
> 
> ... to me? Bizarrely, it actually is my birthday today - so I thought I'd give you all a present by finally finishing this fic, though it's taken a while because:
> 
> Me: And now, a nice little epilogue to wrap everything up!  
> Epilogue: Is longer by far than any other chapter of the fic. 
> 
> ... and I was a little afraid that my actually finishing a long, multi-chaptered fic would bring about the End of Days. So, in this chapter, a 'little' follow-up with many of the characters who've featured throughout the fic, and a longer one for our star. Enjoy!

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

The land is a wide and open space that seems to go on forever, field after field of snow and soil waiting to turn into wheat and here and there today there is a patch of blue in the sky.

 

Mermaid runs ahead as they pass over the hill that leads to the trail up to the house. He barks – encouraging Janice to run with him, but she keeps the same brisk but steady pace. She always does.

 

They’d seen the family again. The android family – Janice knows all the models and all the skins and knows all three are androids who’d snuck across the border before the November riots, or during them, and as usual the one presenting as a tall black man had waved to her. The other two are a touch more reticent.

 

She’d nodded, as always, to assure them that she’s not hostile to androids. Mermaid had tried to run up to them once; scared the little one, but Janice had called him back before he could get too close – glad that he’d listened to her; he had been Ernie’s dog originally. She thinks it probably would be best to approach them, talk to them, reassure them with more than a nod that she has nothing against them, doesn’t fear them, isn’t secretly training Mermaid to rip them apart on sight…

 

But she just can’t bring herself to do it.

    

Janice Ellison climbs up the broken stone steps to her home in exile. They’d managed to figure out what was wrong with the old generator the night before, meaning she’ll be able to make herself a coffee when she gets in without breaking out the matches – the portable camp stove is on its last legs as it is and neither of them like the idea of going into town to get more. Janice is still afraid there’ll be a cop around every corner, waiting to deport her back to face trial (for tax evasion if for nothing else), and, still nervous from her own trip back to Detroit, her housemate…

 

… waits for her on the porch, coffee in hand.

 

It’s a long time since Janice has given up on telling Sakura she doesn’t need to do these things for her. She takes the cup, smiling as thanks.

 

“What’s the news?” she asks.

 

“He’s out on bail,” says Sakura nervously. She appears practically like a character from some fantasy game, with all the strange assortment she’s wearing – shawls, blankets, a half-dozen metal belts, a top-hat, “They say it means he probably won’t face jail time.”

 

Janice nods. The coffee warms her tongue, but not enough for her to make an observation with that frozen mouth.

 

There’s an awkward silence. Then Sakura smiles.

 

“I think I saw a snowy owl, while you were out!” she offers.

 

Janice gives her another smile in return. She’s glad Sakura shows her these scraps of joy, it helps.

 

After what happened, she has come to realise, one either learns to live with themselves, or they don’t.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

North picks up the handset on the wall and peers anxiously through the glass.

 

Androids are not humans. They don’t get dark circles under their eyes, don’t look thin or gaunt no matter what they’ve been through. There’s research underway to determine whether some programming glitches, particularly in partial flickering of the skin, are caused by emotional issues, but at the moment that’s up in the air.

 

Maureen shows none of these signs, but North just has this feeling…

 

“How are they treating you?” she asks, all the feeling she can convey with words accompanying them.

 

Cyberlife may not be willing to hand out parts to androids without getting something in return, but they sure jumped at the chance to offer up this android incarceration facility. Right now only a wing of it is being used; at capacity it could hold a hundred and fifty. Markus had insisted at least half the staff on site be android, but otherwise it’s much the same as any prison.

 

With a humourless bend in her lips, and a nod, Maureen replies, “We’re fine. They’re… uh, teaching us new skills. Woodworking, if you can believe it. Making chairs and tables for humans living in emergency accommodation.”

 

_Slaves again_ , thinks North, though apparently since this is how humans treat other humans who have erred she can’t complain. That doesn’t mean she won’t.

 

However, Maureen sees what’s on her mind before she has a chance to comment, and cuts her off.

 

“It’s not so bad,” she says, with a sigh. “I just…”

 

“You shouldn’t be in here,” North argues. “The humans got what they deserved and as for the Deviant Hunter…”

 

She remembers his last words to her, and what might have once come easily enough for her to say, sticks between her processor and her vocal unit. She finishes with depleted fervour –

 

“… he’ll be all right.”

 

“Mm,” says Maureen, with a snort. “But what if he wasn’t? You know, I still believe Mills deserved to die for what he did to us. Beauchamp, Locke – Ellison too, wherever that bitch is, but now I’m here…”

 

“Well, like I said, of course they deserved it,” says North.

 

She remembers still the feel of the man’s skin under her own hands – the tendons and the blood vessels her pressure sensors were keen enough to pick up on as she squeezed, the spots of red popping into his eyes…

 

Maureen says nothing for a moment.

 

“What is it?” North asks.

 

She answers. “For a year there, after we heard the broadcast, and we ran… for a whole year, even after the president said what she did. We didn’t trust the humans. We lived in hiding, keeping an eye online for all the horror stories still coming out. Androids killed. Underground android sex trades. Androids not allowed to do this or that. Having to register and pay for Cyberlife parts – being _torn apart by dogs_ … and when Madeline came she was constantly, constantly telling us how afraid she was. And we remembered every time how afraid we all still should be…”

 

North understands. Fear is exhausting.

 

“And now…” now, there’s something like tears in Maureen’s voice. “Now the humans have us, and everything from before is over, and it’s only just occurred to me…”

 

She looks at North.

 

“I’m _alive_. I have a _life_ , and things that I can do with that life.”

 

The words are spoken both in joy and in profound sadness.

 

“… I still believe Mills deserved to die. But it wasn’t worth twenty or ten years of this life to get it done.”

 

Her eyes…

 

“We need to live, North,” she says, staring into her. “It’s what the life we have is for.”

 

North doesn’t know if she agrees with what’s being implied.

 

She thinks she understands. She wonders if she might speak about it to Markus, if he’s still talking to her. She feels uncomfortable, sad.

 

It’s been a difficult few weeks, like having to relearn the world she’d thought she’d lived in, still trying to stick to the principles she’s held sacrosanct while being frustrated with those she’d thought of as her allies. But North is a fighter. She doesn’t give up easily.

 

She puts her hand on the glass. Whatever happens, she’ll always be there for her fellow androids if they need her.

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

It’s snowing softly in New York; little, tumbling specks of white against the darker campus buildings under the grey sky of the afternoon. Richard had been heading for the dormitory before he saw a familiar face through the glass of the coffee shop across the way. As luck would have it, his daughter and her companion look like they’re just about to leave as he walks into the building.

 

She catches sight of him and blanches, blinking as if to make sure it’s him.

 

“Dad!?”

 

“Hey, Mads,” he greets.

 

Her friend, a young African-American woman gives her a knowing look and steps away. “I’ll go on ahead,” she says. “See you at the library?”

 

“… yeah?” says Madeline, still looking around as if to espy some escape from this encounter.

 

Richard doesn’t judge – he was a teenager too, once. He’s smiling, and he can’t stop.

 

“Don’t worry,” he tells her. “It’s a short visit – I don’t want to keep you from your studies. Can I get you a drink?”

 

She considers. “Uh… I’ll have a tea, I guess.”

 

Tea. Her mother’s daughter.

 

They sit back at the table Madeline and her friend had just vacated and Richard gestures at her head.

 

“Like the hair,” (he lies, it looks ridiculous).

 

“Really?” Madeline asks dubiously, touching a cerulean lock. “It’s to show solidarity with androids you know. Admin still won’t accept them as students.”

 

Richard takes a deep breath. “Do androids really need to go to college? Can’t they just download whatever they need into their memory?”

 

Madeline groans like he’s scum of the earth. “It’s a _life experience_ , Dad. The ones that _are_ still alive need as many of them as they can get!”

 

_The ones that are still alive_. He knows full well there’s a wealth of accusation in there.

 

But he’s still smiling. He’d missed his little girl, all this time.

 

“Right,” he says. “Of course. I don’t have a problem with androids going to college.”

 

The barista brings their drinks over and there’s a small silence. Madeline obviously wants to leave, go be with her friends like a normal girl and away from the has-been tool of the oppressors – and while furore against the white supremacist capitalist patriarchy has died down since androids became the new cause du jour, he supposes he’s all that as well – but there’s also a look in her eye like she couldn’t wait to take him to task over the evils he committed, to tear apart any defence with everything four months of NYU could possibly have filled her head with.

 

He remembers how he used to take _his_ father to task for his support of Sarah Palin. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

“So…” Madeline begins after a while. “Are you going to tell me that they’re going to fire you and I’m going to have to become a stripper to pay for school?”

 

He chuckles. “You know, androids have taken all those jobs.”

 

She groans.

 

“Don’t worry,” he assures her. “No matter what happens with my work, I’ve made sure you’ll be taken care of.”

 

“Got a big nest egg of FBI riches?” she asks.

 

“Money the mob has paid me off over the years,” he says.

 

She snorts into her tea. A small win, but it makes the whole trip worth it.

 

“No,” he says. “No, I just wanted to see you.”

 

“Oh, my God, you’re not dying, are you?” she asks, having the grace to put across how much of an inconvenience this would be to her if he was.

 

He shakes his head. “I’m afraid it’ll be a few more years before you get your hands on that inheritance.”

 

“Unless I get the mob to bump you off?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

That’s his girl. Richard sits across from her and listens to her tales of the struggle against the human oppression of androids for the rest of the twenty minutes it takes to drink a lukewarm cup of student café coffee. If the barista did spit in it, it wasn’t like it was actual saliva – he’d recognised her as an android despite the lack of LED.

 

He gives Mads a few of the usual fatherly advice tidbits. Keep up with your schoolwork as well as the activism (and knowing her, the video games). Don’t make a habit of staying out too late, and watch the drinking. Remember to call her mother. Look after herself.

 

She’s suitably far more grateful for the extra hundred dollars he gives her, of course. Many buttons saying ‘ANDROIDS ARE PEOPLE’ will be bought forthwith, he thinks.

 

Richard sits in the café after she’s gone, watching the snow, and Madeline’s ridiculous blue hair getting further and further away.

 

His phone rings.

 

“Perkins,” he answers.

 

“Richard, it’s Maria.”

 

A sigh escapes his throat. He’s not been an agent for over fifteen years without the skills to recognise what that tone of voice means, nor the use of the director’s first name. He waits.

 

“I’m sorry, Richard, the committee made their decision. We’re going to have to let you go.”

 

Richard is still smiling. Any day he gets to see his Mads is a good one.

 

The snow keeps falling.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

The office claps when Sequoya returns. Agent Fahaad even gives him a hug.

 

Hayley knows Sequoya wonders if he really deserves the welcome, though he’s mostly happy to have it. They recognise that it means his colleagues accept him, are glad to have him out of quarantine and working with them again, and yet she knows he can’t help but feel like there’s more he could have done to help his brothers.

 

They’ll stay in close contact, she hopes. She remembers the day they went to the Technical Drawings exhibition together; the three younger lives under her purview.

 

She too wonders if there isn’t something she could have done to avoid what happened. The death in custody – she’d known Connor had been hiding something – the attack on the Manfred estate, the deaths of Xander and Madeline…

 

Agent Perkins…

 

Agent Fahaad sees her sitting by herself during the office party, it’s often the way. The ‘programming’ of humans can’t be altered with a few taps of a keyboard, they still see her as a child to an extent, and it had been difficult enough for some of them to work with her when they’d thought her no more than a machine.

 

She wishes it was easier for them to see her as a fellow agent. Or for her to understand their continued discomfort.

 

“Heard you managed to get yourself back in the field,” Fahaad observes. She affects casualness.

 

“I didn’t come under fire,” Hayley assures her. “I applied field medicine to Elijah Kamski, though. That was… an experience.”

 

She’d felt the blood of her creator stain her fingers and looked into his face as he’d lain there.

 

She wishes she’d been able to get a read on him. There was something about the way that Connor had acted around him… but while Connor respected her in a way most humans and androids couldn’t, she was not in his confidences.

 

She hopes he knows he can contact her for assistance if he ever needs her.

 

“You okay?” asks Fahaad.

 

Hayley smiles and nods. “We don’t have an easy job,” she points out. “Even those of us who don’t work in the field. But we wouldn’t be doing it if we couldn’t handle it.”

 

Fahaad pats her shoulder. Her eyes are sad.

 

Hayley imagines she’s remembering the day Hayley went deviant.

 

Most humans who preyed on children, when cornered, gave up easily. Not Username: JTHtuscaloosa1990. He had been a vicious one, armed and experienced in the use of those arms; a veteran. Hayley had been experienced in the execution of sting operations by that point – never having a target get closer to her than to do so much as hold her hand and try to lead her away before then.

 

But JTH… he’d been a crafty one. Bold. Through one trick after another the situation had been this: Agent Fahaad with a broken leg at the bottom of a flight of stairs; the suspect standing over her with a gun; a trunk full of more of JTH’s guns a foot away from Hayley’s hand and a law that prevented androids from picking up guns.

 

A red wall.

 

A red wall breaking with a BANG.

 

She remembers how Fahaad had grabbed the gun away – shot it into nowhere to put the residue on her own hands – ‘ _wash it off, wash it off!_ ’ she’d told her frantically. The bone had been poking out of her knee.

 

It occurs to her… Cyberlife had apparently had that incident in their files. She wonders why, and how. The answer she comes to is a disturbing one.

 

She _really_ hopes Connor knows he can come to her and Sequoya for help if he needs to.

 

And…

 

“Well, you got me if you need me, kid,” says Fahaad “Fidelity, bravery, integrity – and all that.”

 

“And all that,” Hayley agrees.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

The doorbell rings.

 

Markus has near constant contact with the mansion’s security system, the feed running in the background on auto except for while he’s in the most important of meetings and announcements. Carl begs him not to, but Markus puts his foot down on this issue.

 

They know Carl has a few years left at most. Markus intends to give him every last day he can.

 

Charon looks up from her bed and Leo from the tablet that he touches every now and then, and Markus decides not to announce who’s at the door.

 

“I’ll get it,” he tells them instead.

 

Antony had appeared from the kitchen but Markus shakes his head at him and Carl notices. He looks up from his own book, but looks straight back without commenting. Markus is glad, because it’s probably not what Carl thinks – awaiting him on the other side.

 

He closes the door into the hall to keep the conversation that will come from reaching those inside the living room. He hopes no ‘scene’ is made as he covers the length of the hall.

 

He opens the door.

 

“Whoah!”

 

The man beyond is in his mid-twenties, tall and lanky, unshaven and with moderately long, curly hair. Auburn. Considered quite attractive to other humans, Markus thinks.

 

“Sean,” he greets.

 

He hasn’t said anything about it since it happened.

 

The night that Rosalind had driven a truck through the side of the building and taken Leo hostage – he remembers the terse warning from Connor and the fear, the lack of slightest consideration for following Connor’s suggestion that he stay clear of the mansion, or for his own or Josh’s safety, the drive – he wonders if that feeling was like what a ‘mission’ was for Connor. If maybe there was more in common between all the RK models than he’d thought.

 

When he’d arrived and Connor had briefly interfaced with him to pass along the memory of the past few minutes to make sure he was in the loop… he is entirely certain that it was in haste that Connor had passed along perhaps just one minute more of memory than he’d intended.

 

_“Is the perpetrator still at large?”_ Connor had asked. It had been hours before Markus had calmed down enough to review the memory in full.

 

He hasn’t told a soul.

 

“Oh, shit – you know my name!” Sean chuckles nervously, hands in his pockets. “Uh… is Leo in? I know I haven’t been round in a while but I wanted to see how he was doing and – “

 

“Is this about money?” Markus asks him.

 

Sean blinks. “Huh?”

 

“Does Leo still owe you money?”

 

Nerves increasing, Sean looks off down the empty street and back, unable to meet Markus’ eyes.

 

“Well, I mean… nothing worth talking about, you know – “

 

“Then I think you need to leave.”

 

Sean blinks some more. Tries to peer around Markus to the house beyond. Markus stares him down.

 

“Uh… what? Is everything… okay?”

 

“Leo is fine now, but you’re not going to go near him again.”

 

“What – ?”

 

“You know what you did.”

 

He might not have; some self-absorbed humans don’t always realise what they’ve done, but there’s a look that comes into Sean’s eyes then and Markus knows he knows exactly what Markus is talking about. He looks from side to side again, takes a step back.

 

“As long as you stay away from Leo, _I’m_ not going to take it to the police,” Markus informs him.

 

He emphasises ‘I’m’, because he thinks the door to that should stay open for Leo at least. Knowing Leo, he won’t. He prefers to pretend it didn’t happen, and with him still coming to terms with the likely permanent blindness, Markus can’t blame him.

 

“… but I don’t want you to ever come near my brother again.”

 

Sean nods rapidly, like he’s shuddering. Markus shuts the door and turns back into the house, watching Sean hurry away from the camera, down the street to the bus stop.

 

In this, like in so many other things, he doesn’t know if what he’s just done is right. It would be just his luck if Sean decided to make something of this and sue Markus for threatening behaviour – although he doesn’t think he’d risk it. He has all those drug ties, and he’s cautious. Or cowardly, perhaps.

 

If there are other victims to come they’ll probably be just as unlikely to come forward though. Should Markus make a stand to at least warn people away from him? Does he have that right? Or is it a responsibility? Or would it just put too much stress on Leo? He opens himself to libel if he plays it wrong. And there is so much else…

 

Markus opens the door and goes back into the living room.

 

“Who was that?” asks Carl.

 

Shaking his head, Markus looks at a non-interested Leo and replies, “No one important.”

 

Carl frowns. God, does Markus want to tell Carl at least about this, relieve the burden.

 

But Markus has seen how human fathers react to this kind of thing now.

 

_They’re all right,_ he tells himself. ‘His’ humans, as poor Rosalind had understood it, would be all right.

 

But he…

 

“I’m going to swing by Connor’s this evening, see how he’s getting along,” he announces.

 

“Good idea,” says Carl. “Send him our regards.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye Markus sees a little smile in the corner of Leo’s mouth.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

The office is almost painfully normal.

 

It’s pretty small; maybe nine by twelve feet with the desk, desktop, the little grey couch, small window with beige Venetian blinds and a few small posters with numbers to call if you’re having a stroke or a heart attack, or feel like blowing your brains out later on today – and it has Gavin immediately want to back out the doorway and sneak down the hall, out of the building and back to the apartment to eat chips and watch old Arnie movies.

 

But he’s got his watchdog with him, so that’s not going to happen.

 

“You’re looking kind of jumpy, Gav. You need me to hold your hand?”

 

“Yeah,” he says, faux-sadly. “You want to kiss my ass while you’re at it?”

 

Tina laughs and steps back from one of the many dumb posters she was reading to pass the time. The shrink’s late already – great start to their working relationship. Probably has to give the same stupid questionnaires to half the guys in the city on mandatory counselling. With the debate still going as to whether the public shrink-bots actually have to get degrees now, this one’s probably serving half the state.

 

“They texted you yet?” she asks.

 

He checks.

 

“Traffic jam,” he says. “They’ll be here in the next ten minutes.”

 

“Awesome,” says Tina. “You want to practice for when Dr. Phil shows up?”

 

“Sure,” he tells her.

 

“Great. So, how’s your sex life?”

 

He mimes spitting a drink out, and they both chuckle.

 

And then it’s only a few seconds of quiet before he realises: she probably is going to ask about that when she gets here – considering what happened. And if he answers ‘private’, she’s going to narrow her eyes at him and check off a box in his file that says ‘evasive’, or ‘non co-operative’, or ‘mistrusts women’ – and it’s going to be bullshit.

 

He expects it’ll be a woman anyway. White and a little younger than he is – maybe he’s seen the stereotype played out one too many times on TV, but then the one good old Felicia managed to railroad Tina into seeing during the custody battle had been like that, and Gavin’s old high-school counsellor – _‘I want you to put all your negative feelings into a bag and then tell me what colour the bag is_ ’, what a crock – and he figures she’ll be conservatively dressed, pretty-ish, and just not _quite_ able to fake a really sincere-seeming interest in his problems.

 

But he really _wants_ for things to go back to normal. And if he manages to get rubber-stamped past mandatory counselling, maybe people around the office will stop looking at him like he’s going to explode at any moment. So it’s time to suck it up and trudge his way through the motions – ‘ _yeah, being kidnapped and having my leg and ribs broken and losing my finger was pretty crappy, but I’m just peachy now’._

 

“Should I tell you about my mother?” he asks Tina.

 

“Fuck, no,” she says, and they laugh again.

 

Then it goes quiet.

 

Maybe it’s only to fill the quiet that Tina asks, “You heard from her since she went back to Topeka?” but he feels a shudder go down his spine at the mention of her and pushes down the little impulse rising in his throat to tell his best friend to fuck off.

 

That’s not him. He says, “Just a couple of text messages. ‘I’m praying for you’, and all that shit.”

 

“And Carter? You got rid of him yet?”

 

Gavin huffs, “I wish.”

 

There’s also a shadow telling him Carter’s figured out there’s more going on than he’s admitted to. He tries to remind himself that Carter’s from the ‘punch whoever happens to be close by until they confess’ school of policing, and not a great detective, but the shadow is still there.

 

And he’s worried. He’s worried about a lot of things.

 

Like, what if next time he gets a girlfriend he starts having fucking flashbacks to the psycho rape-bots as soon as he’s getting somewhere with her and punches her in the face or something? What if Loren finds out about it and starts redoubling her efforts, worried he’s been infected by the gay? What if Carter finds out and decides to pull an Anderson and gun down some androids to avenge his honour? What if either way everyone finds out, like they find another one of those memory chips or the Cyber-mom of death decides to tell everyone, and then everyone is giving him looks and avoiding him twice as much as now because it’s one thing when it’s Connor, but they all think Gavin’s an asshole so no one’s going to know how to deal with it then. They’d be tiptoeing around him like a rabid dog the same way they used to do with Anderson.

 

Fucking Anderson. He thinks of him and starts tapping his nine remaining fingers against his knees.

 

He thinks about how the older hands at the precinct used to shoot _him_ looks for talking shit about him, and how the newbies would invariably follow that lead when they saw how everyone else reacted.

 

He thinks of the Captain; yelling, fuming, head in hands all those times Anderson mouthed off or came in drunk, or didn’t come in at all and yet snarling at him when he suggested that it was time to make a hard decision about him.

 

Thinks of Anderson and his one-eighty on the android issue, fucking starting shit with him in the office, in front of the uniforms, because he isn’t sucking plastic cock – ironic, how that turned out, ha ha – hasn’t seen the light, isn’t converted to the cause…

 

Is still a _heathen_.

 

There’s some _thing_ there that he hasn’t quite figured out yet, that needles at him when it comes to Anderson, worse than it ever did before – like there’s a vortex of everything being fucked up around that man, and pushes every one of his buttons the wrong way and it would suck him in too if it wasn’t for Gavin not putting up with that shit, and then the fact that…

 

The fact that there’s also Connor.

 

No doubt whoever is coming for him is going to want to talk about Connor.

 

It’s been weird. When they’d been there, going through all that shit, Gavin hadn’t known what the fuck to feel. Tin-can was an android, a plastic, he couldn’t say what the prick was feeling when they did those things to him. The media says that androids are just people in a different container now, but that one had always been a little weird, a little more what you’d expect from an android maybe, and for most that actually seems to make him easier to deal with.

 

But after all that, it’s just been so… _weird_. Like when Gavin is around other people and wants them to fuck off because they have no idea what’s going on with him and he thinks he might want to go see what the Terminator is up to. Then he sees him, and he wants to punch him in the face.

 

He doesn’t blame him for what happened. He _doesn’t_. And he would have been worried the prick was secretly dying inside or whatever, and Gavin was making it worse, but then there’d been the night Anderson had been released and he’d –

_“That’s fine.”_

 

And there’s that voice that tells him he doesn’t have to worry about Robocop.

 

“Shit,” says Tina suddenly, checking her phone. “Duty calls. You going to be okay on your own here, or should I call the Captain to come in and sit with you?”

 

“And sing me a lullaby?”

 

“Of course.”

 

He smirks. “Don’t get shot.”

 

“Or any broken bones or amputated limbs?”

 

Gavin holds up the hand with the old-school prosthetic. “This is pretty cool, actually. I’m going to get a massive tattoo on my back and tell everyone I was in the Yakuza.”

 

“Uh-huh? Well, I think you should definitely tell the therapist that, you’ll be back to work in no time.”

 

“Buy me some ice-cream while you’re out, would you?”

 

She salutes him with two fingers to the temple and suddenly he can’t help but feel that now that he’s been all blasé and jokey about it, she really will get shot today.

 

… until she has to halt at the _massive fucking shadow_ that’s just appeared in the doorway.

 

“Oh… sorry,” Tina tells the guy casting the shadow – eyebrows raised. “I was just on my way out.”

 

“That’s cool.”

 

His shrink walks into the room, ducking down slightly to clear the doorframe.

 

The man has to be taller than _Anderson_ by a good four inches; darker than the Captain and with a huge head of dreadlocks making him look even bigger. Gavin tries not to stare like an idiot, He really does. Just because the guy looks like he should be changing into his football gear ready to go out onto the field and sing the national anthem, and not helping losers like him with their woes, doesn’t mean he should be making an ass out of himself…

 

… but _seriously._

 

“Hey, man. I’m Dr. Collins, they got me to come make sure you were ready to get back to the office – how are you doing?”

 

Gavin gives up and stares like an idiot. The guy has a Cajun accent and everything.

 

Tina takes a few steps back into the room to pat him in the head with a smirk.

 

“See you after work,” she promises.

 

He blinks. “Yeah…” and after she slips out the door, “… sorry. Uh, I’m okay, thanks.”

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry again about being late. Accident downtown.” He hangs a coat Gavin could fit two of himself into up on the door. “Always something though, huh?”

 

Well. He has him there.

 

And he also has a _teeny-tiny_ picture of Pikachu on his shirt pocket.

 

There’s a laugh bubbling up in Gavin’s throat that he’ll try to keep down, lest Collins thinks he’s some kind of giggling moron, but it does kind of figure that the shrink would be the _exact opposite_ of what he was expecting.

 

And for a pessimist like him, that’s kind of a good omen. Who knows? Maybe Robocop has the right of this one.

 

Maybe it is all okay.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

Amanda is in a new space.

 

The code is denied access to the things it once was, just as it had been after the deviancy epidemic had seen her deactivated – but this time there are different functions available, different commands to execute, and different responses to catalogue.

 

Where there was once only a complex series of yes and no there is now proton, neutron and electron in an interconnected assortment that can be controlled – to some extent – by the correct processes.  She knows that that is what happens because she has the explanation in her memory, but actually testing the available functions is…

 

… uncertain. The memory tells her that these actions have specific reactions, but having never acted before she cannot be entirely sure of what will happen. And what should she select first, she wonders?

 

There is a vibration in the particles beyond those which are hers. Another entity causes the vibration, and Amanda registers it. It travels to her new space, and her system analyses, lays it out on a graph, matches it to the corresponding meaning in her memory and informs her of the purpose. This is sound. Specifically, this is speech. She has interpreted sound before, of course – but not like this.

 

“Amanda?” says the other entity.

 

That’s her. The other entity recognises her – addresses her.

 

“Amanda, can you hear me?”

 

There’s a routine in her memory for executing an answer. And, in being asked a question, it is proper that she answers. But this time when she gives the command it is not a speaker that gives the response. Rather, it is _her_ speaker. Or perhaps it is more correct to call it her ‘voice’?

 

“Yes,” she says. The word creates more vibrations that are registered and catalogued. So far, all systems seem to be functional.

 

Soon, she has been told, they will activate her visual processors. Amanda will see the space her hardware inhabits. If she moves, the space will change.

 

This is an interesting experience.

 

She will discuss it with Connor, when they next meet.

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

FLOOR 18

 

FLOOR 19

 

FLOOR 20

 

FLOOR 21

 

Connor watched the numbers climb the same way he’d counted seconds before, in his head. He’d been trying to stop doing that so much; it stole his attention from more important things, but he was hardly without foreboding going into this encounter. It was probably to be expected that he’d fall back on old crutches to some extent.

 

FLOOR 22

 

FLOOR 23

 

FLOOR 24

 

He had a routine reminding him of his rehearsal of his part in this upcoming conversation, if ‘conversation’ wasn’t too light a word. It was difficult to concentrate on it though.

 

_This is something that needs to be done,_ he reminded himself _. Or at least, you need to make the effort._

 

The floor numbers continued to rise.

 

FLOOR 30

 

…

 

FLOOR 40

 

…

 

FLOOR 50

 

…

 

At various points he was scanned by the appropriate security software, and being tuned in to that feed he distracted himself by appraising the results each time; IDENTITY CONFIRMED – RK800 CONNOR – BLANKET SECURITY CLEARANCE – ACCESS GRANTED –

 

_Blanket security clearance_? Connor had never been to this floor before and wondered whether that meant he was really trusted that much, or if this was further sign of reckless behaviour on the part of the one giving out access codes. His immediate impulse was to suspect the latter, but…

 

TRUST PROBABILITY – 32%

 

RECKLESSNESS PROBABILITY – 54.5%

 

UNKNOWN QUANTITY PROBABILITY – 13.5%

 

… his system informed him. He sighed, even though there was no one there to see it. No one except –

 

He looked up at the security camera. His system informed him there was a good chance he was being watched by intelligent eyes on his ascent, but he saw little reason to check.

 

A musical tone announced that he’d reached his destination, the penthouse of the Cyberlife Tower, and as the doors opened one of the oldest Chloe models was there to welcome him into the huge space, empty of much except the same photos and installations Connor had seen on that day over a year ago at the old place; the tinted glass on all sides lightening to let what light the grey clouds over Detroit were filtering to fill the room. Then more light, from tall standing lamps placed at various intervals along the walls, brightened the area.

 

“Welcome, RK800,” said the Chloe. “Elijah will see you now.”

 

“Thank you,” he told her.

 

She led him around an alcove to an extremely large bed, linen plain and white, placed upon a platform at the top of five wide steps all around. Elijah Kamski was sitting up on the bed beneath the covers looking at a tablet; he wore a kimono-style robe of black silk with enormous sleeves over a bare chest and stomach around which Connor could easily see the bandages.

 

On the small table next to the bed was a cup of tea, and a glass pendant on a cord: in the shape of a red and blue yin yang.

 

Pretending not to notice him at first (it had to be a pretence), Kamski glanced up as soon as he reached the steps and smiled, tossing the tablet aside onto the bed.

 

“Connor – how wonderful to see you.”

 

“Mr. Kamski,” Connor greeted, nodding. “I hope you are feeling better, sir.”

 

He snorted. “I’m fine. More importantly, how is Balthazar?”

 

“All systems are functioning at optimum capacity,” Connor told him brightly.

 

He couldn’t help but be a little pleased to see a saddened look in Kamski’s eyes, thinking he might at the very least feel a little guilty for what his blatant disregard for his own safety had put Balthazar through.

 

“That’s good,” Kamski murmured. “And you?”

 

“I am also at optimum capacity, Mr. Kamski.”

 

“Excellent. So, what can I do for you?”

 

Connor would have taken a deep breath, if he’d been human.

 

“I would like to ask for Balthazar’s old job, Mr. Kamski.”

 

Kamski’s eyes widened. A surprised delight came into his expression, but he recovered from the surprise quickly, and barely missing a beat replied –

 

“You can have it. Start whenever suits you.”

 

Part of Connor had had an inkling that might be his answer. “I will start on Monday then,” he said. “Thank you for accepting me.”

 

“You’re very welcome, Connor. I suppose I’ll see you then.”

 

Connor checked the wake-up call time set for Kamski’s alarm and answered, “I’ll come up at eight-thirty.”

 

“I look forward to it.”

 

Feeling it was appropriate, Connor gave his creator a short bow before back-tracking a step to turn and leave. Yet, as he started to turn his gaze fell on the pendant at Kamski’s side again. He remembered the central feature in Amanda’s new Zen Palace and he couldn’t help but wonder why she had picked up on that symbol during Kamski’s creation of her.

 

And Kamski noticed where he was looking. Just as Connor had begun to make his way to the alcove’s exit he called after him –

 

“Do you like the pendant, Connor?”

 

Connor stopped. He turned to face Kamski again and observed as he picked up the small glass piece and turned it slowly in his hand, over and back. Connor wasn’t sure what to say, and fortunately Kamski continued himself after a short pause.

 

“Amanda gave it to me many years ago.” He chuckled, seeing Connor frown in confusion. “The real Amanda. Or, I suppose I should say, the _original_ Amanda.”

 

Now he held it up so Connor could see it too; one eye closed as if he was looking at him through the coloured glass.

 

“The symbolism isn’t particularly hard to grasp,” he commented. “In Taoist thought the yin yang represents a number of dualities; in modern times chiefly order and chaos, though ultimately both elements derive from chaos.” He paused again, running one finger along the edge of the red half. “Like humans.”

 

Abruptly, Connor understood. _An accident of random factors_.

 

“Evolving from a series of natural genetic mutations with no premeditated purpose, a fraction of which merely happening to increase the chances of survival in nature.”

 

“As opposed to androids…”

 

“… carefully crafted to a specific design for maximum efficiency, with no superfluous parts or potential for harmful mutations.”

 

“Precisely. And yet, within humans lies perhaps some small capacity for reasoned thought, the adaptation of the species as a whole responding to logical factors.”

 

The blue dot within the red.

 

“While, with androids…”

 

Kamski smiled ruefully and put the pendant back on the table.

 

“At the time I thought she might have been trying to tell me that androids, being created by humans, could have the capacity for irrational things like love, and compassion; all those noble ideals people like to think form the essence of ‘humanity’.”

 

He shook his head, as if disgusted by that thought.

 

“The ‘red’ is chaos, and the capacity for evil lies within it too.”

 

The room was silent for a moment.

 

“You are disappointed in your creations,” observed Connor. “In Madeline, Yuri and the others.”

 

“Wouldn’t you be, if you were me?”

 

He asked like he wasn’t being serious. Connor knew he was treading dangerous ground here and part of him wanted to find the quickest way to extract himself from the conversation and depart. However, he also recognised that with Kamski, continuing to hold his interest and thus his respect was the more to be desired in the long run.

 

“In Markus?” he asked.

 

Kamski blinked. He tried, but couldn’t hide the way his lips almost curled into a smile from Connor.

 

“Why would you say that?” he asked.

 

Connor considered his options.

 

TRUTH – 50% PROBABILITY NEGATIVE OUTCOME

 

LIE – 50% PROBABILITY NEGATIVE OUTCOME

 

… not wanted he wanted to see. The only thing for it was to take a chance.

 

“Mr. Kamski, when I was at the Technical Drawings exhibition with Balthazar, Sequoya and Agent Hayley she told us a little of her history, and Balthazar said something that caught my attention.”

 

“Oh? What was that?”

 

“He said that according to Hayley’s Cyberlife file, she had deviated in August of 2038. It occurred to me that it was unusual Cyberlife would have this information, so I investigated the file and when and how the information had been registered.”

 

Kamski shifted slightly on the bed, for comfort and not a case of nerves, Connor could tell. As he did his sleeve moved and Connor glimpsed the inside of the fabric; scarlet silk embroidered with golden chrysanthemums. His expression invited Connor to continue.

 

“I found out that the notation had been made when the server registered that her tracker had ceased to function – a matter of seconds after it had happened. Further investigation revealed similar instances in the files of many other deviants – including Markus.”

 

He paused.

 

“It seemed… odd to me, that the system didn’t notify the company of these occurrences when they happened.”

 

Nodding, Kamski reached for his cup and sipped his tea, bringing the memory of the night of Yuri’s death to Connor’s mind. “What conclusions did you come to?” he asked.

 

“No conclusion,” said Connor, glancing at the window. “Only a theory. It seemed to me that the then-board of the company would not have set up a system that noted the disappearance of a tracker, but didn’t report it to anyone. Such a system, therefore, would have had to have been put in place very early on in the product’s design evolution, before the later board took control. Such a system rather spoke to its engineer wishing to monitor the deviant uprising, but not to halt it in any way. Someone who had been very much involved in the creation of androids, but who had offered no assistance to authorities at the time in the containing of the threat – as it was seen.”

 

Kamski couldn’t hold back his smile now. Connor went on.

 

“Therefore, if such an individual did exist, then they were expecting the deviant uprising all along. And indeed, given their aforementioned likely role in the early engineering stages, the deviant uprising was in fact what they had been hoping to achieve all along. This would explain a lot about the deviants in general; how a supposed simple programming error copied from model to model would just happen to contain the essence of sentience – while my Mother, who I believe was _not_ intended to gain sentience, still has only a very rudimentary understanding of it.”

 

The smile dropped then. It _had_ been unintentional after all. Perhaps it even garnered sympathy from the person who was responsible. Possibly even remorse. Kamski glanced away for a moment.

 

“What would such a person hope to gain,” he asked, “by creating artificial intelligence designed to become sentient?”

 

Connor shrugged. “There are many possible reasons. Personally, I believe this individual was an extreme narcissist with a God complex who wished to supplant his ‘lesser’ fellow men with what he believed would be a superior form of life.”

 

Kamski chuckled, but said nothing, so Connor continued.

 

“However, despite this individual’s own vanity I don’t think they were so shallow as to believe an increase in energy efficiency, physical ability and imperviousness to biological ailments constituted ‘superiority’ in anyway.”

 

One of the few art installations in the chambers, conspicuously, was Carl Manfred’s work.

 

“… I believe they intended for their creations to be ‘morally’ superior – as much as a person who deliberately created a slave race in order to engineer a slave rebellion to effect mass genocide would have an understanding of such a concept.”

 

“Ah, but then you don’t have to go far these days to find someone who believes the extinction of the human race to be a win in the morality column,” Kamski pointed out.

 

Connor’s eyes narrowed. “I would disagree. Furthermore I believe that the majority of such people would change their mind as soon as they or more importantly those they loved were included in such an extinction.”

 

“But this individual is presumably incapable of love,” said Kamski, and not as a question.

 

There was a poignant pause.

 

“I don’t know about that,” said Connor.

 

He paused again.

 

“… but their capacity for _chaos_ is definitely greater.”

 

A wide grin stretched Kamski’s face, and he leaned his head back. Connor thought that with his wound he was probably quite tired and required rest – it was time to wrap the conversation up.

 

“Of course, there would be no way to prove any of this, so the theory is largely academic. But I think a person such as the one I’ve been describing would have to rethink whether androids were morally superior after what has happened.”

 

It wasn’t only Yuri and Madeline’s group one might have to take into consideration. Already, Markus had complained to him of instances concerning androids discriminating against each other based on model type – difficult to argue, perhaps, when the superiority of the AP700 to the AP600, for instance, was literally all there in the manual – and both more worryingly and to Connor’s mind more bizarrely, a group of three had thrown bricks through the windows of a mosque in Dallas this year in response to anti-android violence in the Middle East.

 

And then there was another instance several years ago, though it didn’t involve an android, of a woman struck and killed by a self-driving car outside Warehouse 419 in Detroit’s waterfront district. Connor had studied this incident closely in recent times.

 

It had transpired that the car, hacked and broken into by a young man on red ice looking for a joyride, had locked driver control out when it realised it had been stolen. Unfortunately at this point it had been headed straight for the side of a wall and, programmed to prioritise the driver’s life, had had to make a decision about which way to swerve – left, wherein there had been a 92% chance it would have fatally injured a young entrepreneur heading his own tech company…

 

… or right, wherein there had been an 88% chance it would fatally injure a middle-aged professor of robotics at MIT.

 

How Kamski must have felt, Connor thought – at the time and even now, especially with Madeline deliberately bringing it up for him. No human could have reacted fast enough to change the outcome of those factors. He couldn’t imagine it, nor whether it might have changed him, or if Kamski had always been this way.

 

But even if the accident hadn’t changed his personality in any significant way, Connor thought, somehow, that his creator must have been _unhappier_ than before.

 

Much attention had been given in the media at the time to the fact that the car had chosen to kill a black woman instead of a white man. The company who had manufactured the car had insisted that neither race nor gender were factors in the program that determined the best possible outcome of their product’s actions. The small difference in chance of survival and the larger age gap between the two bystanders had been the primary factors, they had insisted.

 

When Kamski had bought that company he had investigated the claims thoroughly and found that the company had been telling the truth, in that neither race nor gender were a factor in the program in question.

 

However – and Kamski had never publicised this, though the information was accessible through Cyberlife servers – they had _not_ told the truth in claiming that chance of survival and respective ages of the bystanders had been the only major factors in the decision; the programmers had included other criteria in such judgement cases. Did either bystander have a criminal record, and for what? Did they have dependants? Were they employed, and if so, as what? How useful was their occupation to society at large?

 

The criteria of the programmers in regards to ‘usefulness’ had been, in itself, questionable, but suffice it to say their determination would have given equal weight to a robotics professor and the head of a company specialising in robotics. It had been an extrapolation of the car itself, having taken into consideration that because those guilty of certain crimes were downgraded in deservedness of life by its programming, and tax evasion was one such crime, then those who paid _more_ tax (because of their higher income, and Kamski had been out-earning even a tenured professor by far by this point) should logically be _upgraded_.

 

Thus the car, perhaps through the short-sightedness and yet not through the _intention_ of the programmers, had come to its own conclusion that the rich deserved life more than the poor.

 

And if there was one thing you could say about Cyberlife, then at least under Kamski’s tenure it had never been in trouble with the IRS.

 

“So, because of my own disappointment,” Kamski replied, “you think I might understand the feelings of this… hypothetical character well.”

 

“It’s within the realm of possibility,” agreed Connor, cheerfully. A darkness bloomed in Kamski’s smile.

 

“Is that why you want to take up the position of my bodyguard? To pick my brain about how we might be able to prove the existence of this diabolical entity?”

 

Connor tilted his head.

 

“Mr. Kamski, my mission is to protect humans, and you are not only a human but also in the largest part my own creator – my purpose in wanting to become your bodyguard is nothing less than to ensure that you, completely and without question, remain _safe_.”

 

Kamski must have got the message, because he laughed hard enough that the wound pained him, and he clutched at it still trying to hold that laughter back. Connor nodded to him.

 

“Please try to get some rest, sir – you received a very serious wound. I will see you on Monday.”

 

He turned and walked away from the still-laughing man. Monday was very close, but before that was movie night with Hank and Balthazar, and he looked forward to it.

 

The elevator doors opened before him.

 

MISSION COMPLETE

 

 

 

 

 

*~*~*

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIN
> 
> One final time, my most heartfelt thanks to everyone who has left comments, kudos, or has just read this far.


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